In giving, we receive
by Leadlight
Summary: Post-Season 6. What is Spike going to do now?
1. London

**Title:** In giving, we receive 

**Author: **Leadlight 

**Feedback:** Please! 

**Summary: **Post-Season 6. S/B and G/A (yay!). My thoughts on where Spike might go now.. 

**Spoilers: **The teensiest bit of (unverified) season 7 spoilage. And lots of speculation. And - I admit it - an overdose of shippy longing. 

**Disclaimer: **Not mine. I'm just borrowing them for a few days. 

**Thanks:** To my wonderful team of betas: Jacq, Degan, and everyone at RW. And to Vickie who kindly checked that I hadn't buggered up any of the English references. 

* * *

**CHAPTER 1**

There were days when even the outrageous phallic symbolism of Nelson's Column failed to make him grin. Fortunately, today was not one of them. 

He'd been in London for four months now. The long summer days and his lack of a legal identity or paperwork had made it hard, at first, to make a life for himself. But his persistence had paid off, and he'd picked up first some labouring work and, more recently, a job as a night watchman. All cash in hand, of course - but it paid the rent on his mews basement and left enough for smokes and a bit over. 

No one knew who or what he was, of course. He'd hidden that well, and had kept clear of the local demon underworld. No one would expect the Big Bad Vampire to be working night security at a meat packing plant - but it suited him nicely. All the blood he could drink, and as much solitude as he could take. 

Maybe more solitude than he could take. Truth be told, he missed them all. He'd written to Clem once or twice; he'd figured he owed it to the demon to let him know he was okay. Clem had passed on the story of Tara's death (who would have thought that would leave such a hole in his heart?) and Willow's attempt to destroy the world. Part of him longed to return, to try to heal the pain of those left behind in Sunnydale. He knew they would never let him do that though. He had never been one of them, and there was too much history between them to be healed just like that. They'd stake him as soon as see him, and he figured he was a little more useful alive. Well, un-alive or whatever the term was. 

He'd sent the Bit a birthday present. He'd picked up a brown leather jacket from the market, and a Paddington Bear from Harrods; he figured she was too young for one and too old for the other. He'd had them shipped to her signed "Rupert Giles". Chances were, they'd never know it wasn't the Watcher who'd sent them. 

He'd written to Giles once, anonymously. A few weeks after he arrived in England, he'd even got as far as the station in Bath before sanity reared its ugly face and he took the next train back to London. There was no reason to suppose that Giles, or any of the Scoobies, would refrain from staking him on sight. In fact, Giles would be more likely to give him a dusty end, if Buffy had told him the whole sordid story. He wasn't sure whether the Watcher would recognise his handwriting, so he'd typed a note in the packing plant office and mailed it to him, giving details of the Karkhur demon nest at Mornington Crescent. Next time he'd checked, they were gone, so he assumed his message had been received. 

"Move on," Buffy had told him. "You have to move on." 

But his attempt at that hadn't felt so good - for him or for Anya, if the truth be told. The sex had been functional and bittersweet; it had served more as a reminder of what they couldn't have than a celebration of future possibilities. Of course, neither had predicted that the Scoobies would watch the whole thing courtesy of the three morons. It had pretty effectively put paid to any hopes she might have had of reuniting with Xander. He was sorry for that, even though he firmly believed that Xander had never treated her as she deserved. He'd not known how to make it up to Anya, and knew that anything he tried would be futile. He still had a soft spot for her; he knew how hard it was to be the eternal outsider. He'd picked up a couple of interesting items in Africa, and kept an eye out around the local markets for anything he could add to the Magic Box's inventory. Books mainly, but sometimes an amulet or other item showed up. He'd never signed a shipping note, but he figured she - of all people - would know who they were from. 

*** 

He'd slipped into a routine almost by accident. Monday to Thursday nights found him at the plant. During the day he'd sleep, write letters he'd never post, read, and watch the telly. He didn't have a Television licence; trust the Brits to make you pay over a hundred quid just to own a set. Even a soul didn't give you the right to be a bleedin' ponce. 

After he finished up Friday morning, he'd head for Bermondsey Market and take a quick look through the stalls before the crowds arrived, then hurry back to his basement flat before sunrise. 

Friday nights, he'd treat himself to a few drinks at the local pub, pretending not to notice the barmaid making eyes at him, and keep a bit of an eye on the clientele. You'd think the local vamps might have noticed that Friday nights at The Prince of Wales were not the healthiest times for hunting, but still they kept coming. Back in the day, there were a couple of customers he might have even eaten himself, but for the most part they were a dull bunch of twits that'd give anyone indigestion: typical city pub clientele consisting mainly of lawyers, accountants and the odd office party. 

Saturdays, he tried to get to St Margaret's. He'd never tried going into the church itself, but he'd found his mum buried there, beside his own grave. It looked different from above ground. "Beloved son and devoted brother," read the epitaph. 

The plot was well-tended, but he'd never tried to track down who cared for it. Sometimes he talked to his own mum, sometimes to Joyce. He'd left flowers a couple of times, but mostly he just liked to sit and think. Sometimes, he took a notebook and scribbled things down - a first-hand account of the things he'd seen and done. There was a note in his room to send everything to Rupert if he didn't return one day. Perhaps they would be of interest to someone. 

On Sundays, at first, he had roamed. He'd visited old familiar places and haunts - from life and from death - taking in the old and the new. He tried to never visit the same part of town twice. One night, inspired by some deviltry, he'd taken a walking tour of "haunted London". Four pounds to listen to some hack actor scare a bunch of tourists had been worth it, until a couple of newly-minted vamps had decided to have some fun with them. He'd seen to them, of course, then quietly sniggered at the tourists' whispered "How do they DO that?"s. The duly grateful tour leader evidently knew rather more about the underside of London than his practised patter suggested, and Spike often went along now. He'd even learnt a few things himself, although he'd had to restrain his smirk at some of the more glaring errors in the tour of "Victorian London". The guides knew and accepted him these days, and were always ready to shout him a pint or three at the end of the tours, when he'd join the tourists for a drink before escorting them ("I'm just going that way myself") back to their hotels. They were generally a friendly bunch, and he liked the company. 

Tonight, though, he had more on his mind than the tour group. As the small group approached the church, he lit another cigarette - as good an excuse as any to avoid the occasional awkward questions about why he wasn't going in. 

There it was; the glimpse of orange in the churchyard, the feeling of familiarity or recognition. Casually, he stubbed out his cigarette, then stepped back into the shadows. 

He moved silently along the front of the church, stopping in surprise when he saw her. She looked older and sadder, and her hair had grown, but otherwise she looked much the same as when he had last seen her. She was talking urgently, in an undertone, to an older couple. They'd apparently reached an agreement, because they shook her hand then turned and hurried away. Spike stepped out of the shadows. 

"Hello, Willow." 

She jumped, then whirled around. 

"Spike," She said, clearly startled by his presence. 

At least she wasn't reaching for a stake or her sunlight spell. 

"What are you doing - ," they said together. 

Spike arched an eyebrow. "Ladies first." 

Willow looked around anxiously. "Have you been here long?" 

"Just got here," replied Spike. "The people I'm with went into the church, but that didn't seem such a good idea for me. You know, vampire and all." 

At least that raised a smile. 

"That looks better," he smiled. "So what brings you to these distant shores?" 

"I don't know how much you - " She paused, looked down, not knowing how to begin. 

"Enough," replied Spike. "Clem writes sometimes." He stopped, uncertain how to continue. 

"Oh," said Willow. 

"I was sorry to hear about Tara," Spike said hesitantly. "She was--" He swallowed. "Well, she was one of the good guys." 

Willow smiled wanly. "She was everything that was good about me. I miss her so much, I--" She stopped, then swallowed. Her mouth twisted as she struggled to retain control. 

"I know," replied Spike. He looked up as the tour group filed out of the church. "Listen, you doing anything now? I need to go with these people but you could come along if you'd like to. The tour's nearly over." 

"I'd like that," Willow smiled. 

*** 

So here they were. Trafalgar bloody Square. At least the pigeons had gone off to roost somewhere. 

"I'm not really ready to talk about it." Willow looked away, her eyes shuttered, and Spike decided not to press. "After what happened, Giles brought me back here. There's a coven in Devon who run a rehab program; it's kinda like Betty Ford for the magical. They teach you how to control the magic, instead of just stopping cold. So I can still be Wicca!Girl, although I seem to have lost most of my powers. I'm more Sabrina than Samantha these days." She pulled a face. "They say in time I might be able to get them back. They're still there, it's just I can't access them anymore. But for now, it's classes, group therapy and once-a-month weekend leave. My parents think I'm at Oxford on an exchange program." 

She stopped, frowned a little. "But what are you doing here?" 

Spike opened his mouth, then closed it again. _Apparently doing fish impersonations_, he thought to himself. "I just needed a change," he said. "Came over here to clear my head, get some perspective. I don't think Buffy really wants me around Sunnydale." 

Willow looked up. "You might be surprised," she said. "Buffy's changed a lot. She's even started taking Dawn patrolling." 

He looked up, surprised at that, then shook his head. 

"Besides, I've got some things to work out, love. You're not the only one who needed a break." 

Willow looked at her watch. "Look, Spike, I need to go or I'll miss my train. I'll be back in a few weeks. Can we meet? It's good to see a familiar face. I mean Giles visits, but I always feel he's there to check up on me rather than just to see me." 

"Sure," he replied, scrounging in his pocket for a piece of paper and jotting down his address and the number of his cell phone. "Just give me a call." 

He watched her walk away, hands in his pockets, one toe scuffing the ground. Mentally revising his schedule. It would have to be Friday. 

* * *

... To be continued ... 


	2. Bath

**Title:** In giving, we receive 

**Author: **Leadlight 

**Feedback:** Please! 

**Summary: **Post-Season 6. S/B and G/A (yay!). My thoughts on where Spike might go now.. 

**Spoilers: **The teensiest bit of (unverified) season 7 spoilage. And lots of speculation. And - I admit it - an overdose of shippy longing. 

**Disclaimer: **Not mine. I'm just borrowing them for a few days. 

**Thanks:** To my wonderful team of betas: Jacq, Degan, and everyone at RW. 

* * *

**CHAPTER 2**

The door was green. It had two panes of frosted glass, a knocker shaped like a lion's head, and a brass letterbox slot. The paint was chipped just above the lock, showing the white undercoat beneath. There were bells for the four apartments (flats, he reminded himself, he was back in England after all), each with a faded card beside it bearing the occupant's name. The card for flat 2 bore, in familiar handwriting, the name 'Giles'. Just as it had for the past twenty minutes; he'd lay odds it probably wouldn't change in the next twenty either, or for that matter in the twenty after that. Suppressing the temptation to wait and be sure, and damning himself for a stupid, nervous git, he reached out and rang the bell. 

He heard the footsteps in the corridor, saw the door open. Warily met impatient hazel eyes. Watched them widen with recognition and astonishment.

"Spike?" Giles asked.

He shuffled, smiled. "Look, I'm sorry to disturb you. I know you're probably –"

Giles stepped back, gestured inside. "Come in." 

Spike hesitated: surely it wasn't going to be that easy. Straight to the hello-how-are-yous, skipping the didn't-you-almost-rape-my-daughter?

Giles looked searchingly at him, then nodded once, slowly. What was done still lay between them, but suddenly the gulf between Spike and forgiveness didn't seem so wide.

Spike stepped inside, following Giles up the stairs and into his flat. The front door opened onto a comfortable, quintessentially English sitting room. Shelves of old leather-bound books covered the walls. A display case on one wall held a variety of artifacts: statues and old books mostly. On its own shelf stood an Etruscan bowl containing a pencil with a tiny rubber monster on its end, waving his arms over the rim of the bowl.. Photos in silver frames decked a table beneath the window, and a familiar mug blazoned "Kiss the Librarian" sat on the coffee table, next to a bottle of red wine, two glasses and a bowl of pretzels.

Giles gestured to the sofa. "Have a seat, Spike. It's good to see you. I've been wanting to get in touch to thank you for the tip-off about that Karkhur Demon nest."

Spike turned as he hung his jacket on a hatstand by the door. "I wasn't sure you'd know –"

"Oh, not at first, but your continued involvement in our lives started to become a little obvious. Calls from Dawn to thank me for presents I'd never sent; then Anya mentioned that she'd been receiving additional inventory that she'd never ordered. It wasn't hard to put two and two together."

Spike smiled. "How is Anya, anyway?" 

Giles rubbed absently at his glasses. "She should be popping in any minute now. We decided it would be easier to – ah – discuss the business in person so she's coming over for the weekend." Spike looked at him quizzically, but decided it might be better not to ask any questions for the moment.

"Can I get you something to drink?" Giles offered. "I'm afraid I don't have any blood on hand; Bath isn't exactly renowned for its friendly vampires. I have wine, or tea, and I may even have a beer in the fridge."

Spike grinned. "I brought my own, thanks." He patted the silver thermos in the pocket of his jacket. "It's warmed and everything. Very posh. Much cleaner than the old-fashioned way."

The two men laughed, each aware of how strange it was that a vampire and a Watcher could have this conversation -- each glad to be having it with the other.

Giles poured himself a glass of wine, frowning thoughtfully. "I assume this is more than just a social call.. Not that you're not welcome to just drop by," he added hurriedly. He paused for a moment before reluctantly continuing, "Buffy told me a little of what happened between the two of you. While I don't excuse your role in it, I do see – and so does she – that the responsibility has to be shared between you.

"She wouldn't tell me why you left town, although Xander was quick to tell me his version of events." His jaw tightened in remembered anger. "I certainly hope that what he had to say owed a great deal to his imagination. If I thought it was the literal truth, you'd be blowing in the wind now and not sheltering from it in my home." The Watcher's voice faded as he looked grimly at Spike. "Buffy wouldn't talk about it, but she assured me she was fine, and that Xander had exaggerated."

Spike studied the floor intently. "I wondered. Thought you might have a stake with my name engraved on it." He looked up, meeting Giles' eyes. "I doubt that Harris could invent anything worse than what I nearly did. Exaggerate it, maybe. But I deserve that stake, you know. Wouldn't blame you at all."

Giles shook his head. "Oh, there have been times when I've thought about it. But what was between you and Buffy had less to do with vampire and Slayer and more to do with chemistry and hormones. And frankly, as long as she's all right, I don't care to think that deeply about Buffy's love life."

Spike frowned. "It wasn't love. Not on her side; I know that now. That's why I left. It could have been, but she wouldn't let it get there." He paused to collect himself. "Anyway, that's not what I wanted to talk to you about. I ran into Willow in London a few days ago and she filled me in on what she'd been up to in Devon. Trouble is, I'm not sure that's all she's up to."

Giles frowned, leaning forward. "In what way?"

"She told me a little of what happened. She said her powers were blocked somehow?"

Giles nodded. "I went over there on borrowed power, fuelled by the Devon coven. When she sucked my power, they tapped into it, trying to reach the humanity within her. In the end, it was Xander who stopped her." He smiled at Spike's incredulous expression. "He got through to her," he explained. "He reminded her of all the other things she loved. I still don't know how he got through all that rage and pain to find Willow.  Somehow, it seems, something inside her blocked her magic and stopped her from destroying the world. Even the Devon witches aren't quite sure how it happened."  

"She said the magic is still there, inside."

"That's right. One day, she may be able to fully access it again. The coven is rehabilitating her, which includes instructing her in how to use her magic responsibly. If she does manage to regain it we won't have another apocalypse of our own creation." Giles paused, looked solemnly at Spike. "I feel responsible, you know. I knew she was using dark magics when she resurrected Buffy. I should have stepped in then, done something."

Spike shook his head. "There was nothing you could do. She wouldn't have listened anyway; she would only have assumed you envied her powers. I heard her talking to you in the kitchen that night after you came back to Sunnydale."   Both men paused, reminded of what – who – had brought Giles back to the United States.

Giles shrugged. "I just wish I could have done something. Noticed sooner –"

"Then Buffy would still be dead," Spike pointed out. "There's no point dwelling on the past, I've found. You just need to make the best of what you've got and move on." He set his glass on the table then looked up to meet Giles' eyes. His grim expression got the Watcher's undivided attention. "Which brings me to my next point. When I saw Willow, she didn't see me at first. She was talking to a shady-looking couple. I tracked them down after she went back to Devon. It seems she's looking to get her powers back."

Giles blinked. "Do you know how?"

"Not sure," Spike said. "This couple, they're demons -- not the evil kind," he hastened to add. "They specialise in tracking down obscure artefacts. It seems Willow told them she's a buyer for the Magic Box and she's trying to track down a Talisman of Will."

Giles frowned. "I suppose it's possible she could be scouting things out for the shop, although that's highly unlikely. We can ask Anya when she arrives. However, you're right to be concerned; she could be planning to use the Talisman in some sort of invocation." He paused and thought for a moment. "Actually, we could ask Anya about that as well." " 

"About that," Spike asked. "What's she doing arriving at this time of night? She fly in to Heathrow and catch the bus or something?"

Giles rubbed absently at a spot on the sofa. "Actually, she's teleporting in. It seems that, after Xander walked out on their wedding, Anya accepted an offer to resume her duties as a vengeance – er – justice demon."

Spike blinked. "So you mean –"

"Yes, when you had your  -- encounter -- with Anya in the Magic Box, she was a demon already. She was hoping you would help her gain revenge on Xander through an injudicious wish. Instead, quite by chance, the two of you fell into the one thing that would most hurt him -- and Buffy as well." He looked away, a little embarrassed.  

"It wasn't like that," Spike insisted. " It didn't mean anything – it wasn't planned. It was just about--" He groped for a word. "--forgetting. For both of us."

Giles looked back at him. "I do understand. I'm just not sure that Buffy and Xander share that particular feeling."

Spike shrugged. "Well it's not like I'm in Sunnydale to annoy Buffy any more. Or like we were ever really a couple anyway; she'd made it pretty clear that she wanted nothing to do with me. And Harris never did know how to treat Anya. He was so busy focussing on what she wasn't, he never bothered to look at what she was. The stupid git left her at the altar. Either he wanted to be with her or he didn't, and that sounds a hell of a lot like 'didn't' to me." 

"You won't get any argument from me," replied Giles. "She's taken the 'justice' side of things to heart. She's trying very hard to steer clear of the more outrageous acts of vengeance for which she was famous. And, while running the Magic Box is admittedly an unusual occupation for someone in her position, there are worse things she could be doing." He blinked as he realised what he'd said. "Much worse things, actually," he added dryly.  

Spike smirked, then stood, reaching for his jacket. "I'd better be going, then. Just wanted to let you know what was up."

Giles frowned. "Do you need to go now, or can you stay? I'm sure Anya would love to see you. And I'd like to talk to you about the Willow situation some more."

Spike gestured to the mantel clock above the gas fire. "Last train's at eleven. If I stay any longer, I'll be here till tomorrow night."

"Well, Anya will be in the spare room," said Giles, "but you'd be welcome to sleep on the sofa here. I'd really like to discuss this some more, if you don't have other plans."

It was amazing how good a simple sentence like that could make him feel. He'd been serious about expecting to be staked, not welcomed. And he didn't have any plans that couldn't wait, not that he wouldn't have changed them if he had.

A swirling mist in the corner alerted them to Anya's arrival. She was looking good, Spike thought, although she'd lost a little weight. The past year had clearly taken its toll on her as well. Not surprising, really.

"Giles!" she observed as she stepped forward. "Spike is in your living room."

Giles smiled broadly. _The Watcher always took Anya's comments in his stride_, Spike mused as Giles placed one arm around her shoulders and guided her to the sofa, passing her a glass of wine before he looked up.

"Teleporting such an extreme distance can be tiring," he explained to Spike before returning his attention to Anya. "Spike has just come down from London," he told her. "He'll be staying until tomorrow night. There are some things we need to discuss; I'd welcome your input as well."

Spike recognized the look on Anya's face; had Xander _ever _asked for her opinion? "I'd like to help you," she replied eagerly. "Dawn and Buffy are looking after the Magic Box for me, and I don't have to be back until Monday."

"That works out nicely," said Giles. "I have a pair of tickets for the theatre on Sunday night -- I'd be delighted if you would be my guest." He gestured to the tickets, propped on the mantelpiece beside the clock. "It's _The Merchant of Venice_," he added.

Spike cocked an eyebrow at Giles: "'Though justice be thy plea, consider this / That in the course of justice none of us / Should seek salvation?'  I suppose it beats _Hamlet_," he added.

Giles grinned in response. "'How all occasions do inform against me / And spur my dull revenge?' I suppose you have a point."

Anya rolled her eyes. "When you two are finished showing off your great learning, perhaps you could tell me what's going on?"

Giles quickly outlined what Spike had learned.

"Have you spoken to the coven?" asked Anya. "Surely they should know."

Giles frowned. "They're a little preoccupied with the situation in Paris right now."  He turned to Spike and explained, "Apparently a group of students at the university decided to spice things up in their dormitory and raised some rather angry demons from the Nisklum dimension. In fact, the coven has been talking about sending Willow back to Sunnydale in a few weeks, to see how she can cope back home. It's been rather contentious actually; some of them feel very strongly that she should never be permitted to return to Sunnydale. On balance, though, they've decided that a one-month visit is appropriate at this stage of her rehabilitation. 

"Essentially, it would be an extension of her weekend leave arrangements. I think it would be good for her to return to Sunnydale and face the situation there; adjust to living without Tara. It's awkward, though, because if the coven knew that she had been actively trying to regain her powers they would restrict her even more. I'm worried that she would react badly to that; it was touch and go whether she would even stay with them at all. I'd feel better about it if there were someone to watch over her there."

Anya frowned. "Where would she stay? I don't see Buffy and Dawn opening their house to her again, however much they say they've forgiven her trying to destroy the world. And since you convinced the Council of Watchers to pay Buffy that very comfortable salary with many zeroes, it's not as though they need to take in lodgers."

"The coven has a contingency fund for these matters," replied Giles. "It seems they have a rather lucrative sideline doing psychic readings over the telephone."  He looked almost embarrassed by this, as though an association with what he had once described as 'chicanery and balderdash' might devalue the worth of the coven's other work. "Apparently there's an apartment for rent in Xander's building. They've taken a lease on it; they seem to think, after what happened in Sunnydale, that it may do Willow good to have him nearby."  He ventured a tentative glance at Anya.

To Spike's surprise, the demon seemed calm as she considered Giles's words. 

"That could work," she said matter-of-factly. "But how will we keep track of her? I can track where she is, of course – woman wronged, blah blah blah – but I'm already losing sales at the Magic Box because I have to close it whenever I need to be elsewhere. Even I can't be in two places at once." She paused, then added in a spirit of full disclosure, "Well, I _could_, but it gets tiring very quickly." She focused on Spike. "Your friend Clem runs some deliveries for me, but floppy ears scare the customers. Dawn helps with stocking the shelves – she still owes me three hundred and seventy- two dollars and eighty-six cents of labour to make up for the mad thieving. I do have to wreak venge- – er – justice, as well, you know."

"Yeah, how's that going, love?" Spike grinned.

"Oh, very well," she replied happily. "Yesterday I gave a guy horrible, weeping boils on his penis. He'd been cheating on his girlfriend. When he stops cheating, the boils will go away. It's very clever, see, because he *will* stop cheating because of the boils; and they will only come back if he cheats on her again. Sooner or later, he will learn. It's much more complicated than simply eviscerating him."

"Yes, quite," said Giles, clearly not entirely comfortable with the discussion, however much he was trying. "Going back to the situation in Sunnydale, then, I have a suggestion that I think might work admirably."

 "I've given the matter some thought," he continued. "As I understand it, the problem is this: With Xander at work and Buffy and Dawn at college and school during the day, you are the only person with the facility to watch over Willow." Anya nodded. "But you are busy with the Magic Box and your – other duties. What you really need is an employee--someone who you can trust to run the shop for you while you are otherwise occupied." He held up a hand to silence Anya before she could interrupt. "Your concern is that the Magic Box doesn't generate the income to pay a full-time employee and, even if it did, it would be hard to find someone trustworthy enough to leave in a store full of magical texts and objects."

Anya nodded. "That's it exactly," she said.

Giles continued, glancing from Anya to Spike. "When Xander's crew rebuilt the Magic Box, I had them build a small apartment in the basement. It's not much: a bathroom, kitchenette and two rooms. I intended to use it when I visited." He laughed. "It's even wired for cable television."  

_Surely he's not going where I think he is,_ thought Spike as the Watcher turned to him. "I realise it's asking a great deal of you, to give up the life you have here. But would you consider returning to Sunnydale?"

Spike froze, his eyes turned to the Watcher.

"It would be in an advisory capacity," Giles added. "You'd be keeping an eye on things and reporting on Willow's progress to me, here, and to the coven. You'd also help Anya out at the Magic Box as she requires. I'd need to discuss this with the coven but I would imagine that, in return, we'd pay you a smallish salary and supply you with the use of the apartment."

Spike frowned. "I'd need to think about it," he replied. "It's not that there's a lot keeping me here, but there's a lot of people in Sunnydale have it in for me. They're hardly going to be falling over themselves to kill the fatted calf and throw 'Welcome Home' parties for me."

After a few more minutes of discussion, they agreed to meet again in a fortnight to hear Spike's decision and the coven's reaction and discuss their arrangements. After that, the conversation turned to more mundane matters. Anya and Giles were amused by Spike's tales of his life in London, particularly the stories of the tour guides and the antics of some of the tourists. Giles filled them in a little on his activities as an Emeritus Watcher; he was still receiving the Council stipend but spent his time on research and the occasional hands-on project. Anya generally talked about the people back in Sunnydale: Buffy's adjustment to life back on campus, Dawn's progress at school (and at controlling thieving fingers) and – briefly – Xander's assistance in rebuilding the Magic Box. Her chatter was both familiar and somewhat daunting to Spike, as for the first time he faced the thought of returning home and facing them all.

***

In the end, Giles and Anya drove him home the following morning. He lay on the back seat of Giles' Rover under a rug while they zoomed up the motorway, discussing Magic Box business. He was almost envious; Anya had so clearly found her calling in running the store. He wasn't sure yet what to make of her Justice Demon gig, but good for her if it kept the Scoobies on edge.

They came inside with him, briefly. Anya opened the door for him to run inside under cover of a rather grotty picnic blanket. He suspected they just wanted to see where he was living, to make sure that he was on the level. The flat wasn't much, just a bed-sit really, but it was a step up from the crypt in which he'd spent the previous three years. It was clean and bare; almost minimalist. He'd rented it furnished and never bothered to decorate. _Was it always just a temporary home?_ he wondered. 

There was a bed, a writing desk, and a fridge that he kept well stocked with beer and blood. Aside from the TV, a radio and a comfy chair, the only items of interest were the journals and a couple of letters from Clem on top of the fridge.

The thought of a proper apartment, even a small one, certainly had appeal. He wasn't so sure about returning to Sunnydale, but the irony of a Watcher and a coven (of Good Witches, no less) offering a vampire a job was not lost on him. Suppressing the thought – part longing, part dread – of seeing Buffy again, he tried to consider the prospect calmly. On the plus side, he'd be returning home. He wasn't sure when he'd made that mental switch, but England was no longer the emotional safe haven he'd thought it would be. He'd have a nice apartment, plenty to read, and English telly certainly wasn't a patch on what he could get in Sunnydale.

He had friends there, too: not Buffy or Xander, of course. He doubted that even the Bit would want him around these days; but Clem certainly qualified, and he thought Anyanka did too. He'd missed having companionship; packs of tourists in Birkenstocks and backpacks didn't really count. And the prospect of working in the Magic Box held promise. At least its customers usually had more to say for themselves than the cattle carcasses with which he currently spent his working hours.

Who was he kidding? The only reason he wasn't there now was that he hadn't been game to face Buffy after what he'd done. He'd seen her horror at what had happened; he didn't need to torture himself by seeing it again every day. Given the chance to help her, though, however indirectly, he really didn't see that he could refuse.

Before he could leave, though, he had some personal business to attend to. A pair of addresses had been burning a hole in his pocket for the past six weeks. It was time to do something about them.

* * *

... To be continued ... 


	3. London

**Title:** In giving, we receive 

**Author: **Leadlight 

**Feedback:** Please! 

**Summary: **Post-Season 6. S/B and G/A (yay!). My thoughts on where Spike might go now.. 

**Spoilers: **The teensiest bit of (unverified) season 7 spoilage. And lots of speculation. And - I admit it - an overdose of shippy longing. 

**Disclaimer: **Not mine. I'm just borrowing them for a few days. 

**Thanks:** To my wonderful team of betas: Jacq, Degan, and everyone at RW. And to Vickie who kindly checked that I hadn't buggered up any of the English references. 

* * *

**CHAPTER 3**

That night, he borrowed a van from the meat plant. Harry, the weekend caretaker, had clued him in to that particular unofficial perk, and he'd agreeably turned a blind eye to the times when Harry had borrowed it on his watch. Now, faced with the difficulty of hiring a car with no licence, he rationalised that borrowing the van wouldn't hurt anyone. Despite this logic, he'd had to suppress a few pangs of guilt at the unofficial arrangement.

His first stop was a large house in a relatively new housing estate just outside London. As he waited, a station wagon pulled into the drive. The doors opened, and out climbed a couple in their mid-forties, and three children who ranged in age from seven to thirteen. He didn't need to check his notes; he knew that Stephanie was the eldest, closely followed by Hamish and then Emily, clearly a late addition to the family. As he watched, Emily yawned hugely, and her father smiled fondly and reached out to tousle her hair. She had a look of Livvy about her, and he remembered, dimly, doing the same to her. 

_"Stop it, Will," _she would cry._ "Mama, Will's teasing me again_." Their mother would turn, trying to look stern.

_"William, it's not kind to tease your sister."_

_"Yes, Mama. Sorry, Livvy. Sorry, Mama," _he would say contritely, only for Mama to reach out and tousle his hair herself.

Hamish ran ahead and was almost knocked over by the enormous golden retriever that bounded out as soon as he unlocked and opened the front door.

The children's parents exchanged an amused glance as Stephanie joined Hamish in trying to restrain the dog. Moments later, they were inside, the closed door a tangible symbol of the barriers between Spike and the warmth of their home.

Livvy's great-great grandchildren seemed happy enough in their loving, comfortable home. He had never been a part of their lives, and there was no sense in trying now. It wouldn't have been right to go back to Sunnydale without looking in on them, though.

_One down_, he thought to himself as he started the engine and turned the van around.

***

His next stop was closer to the centre of the city, a narrow house in a genteel part of town. The lights were on, and he could see the flicker of a television behind the net curtains. Squaring his shoulders, he climbed the stairs and rang the bell.

"Just a minute," called a voice. A minute or so later, the door opened to reveal an elderly woman in a heathery tweed skirt and a fluffy, pale blue jumper that matched her still-bright eyes. Her woolly slippers were more practical than elegant. "Can I help you?"

He shuffled a little, not entirely comfortable with the lie he'd prepared. Plastered a friendly smile on his face, apologised mentally to Xander and began.

"I'm sorry to disturb you so late. I'm looking for Miss Nancy Carmichael. My name's William Harris. I'm visiting the area, and I believe we may be related."

An indefinable emotion flickered across her face, then she stepped back. "That's me. You'd better come in then, Mr. – " She paused. "Harris."

Relieved to be over that hurdle, he followed her inside. She switched off the television. "Some awful game show," she apologised. "I like to have it on in the evening. It gets lonely with no one else here."

He nodded. "I do the same."

They chatted about nothing over a pot of Earl Grey before she leaned forward.

"So, Mr. –er— Harris," she invited. "How can I help you?"

Why had he come? Where to start?

"Your great-grandmother is the relative we share. Your grandmother Olivia's mother. Her grave is at St Margaret's. I wondered if you knew who had been maintaining it."

She smiled. "I keep up a regular donation to the church there. The churchwarden keeps it tidy for me. My cousin's grandchildren visit it sometimes and take flowers. My second cousins once removed, or some such. I can never keep up with these relationships."

He grinned. "Me either. Just working out how you and I are related is tricky enough."

"I would have thought that would be quite simple," she said. "For you."

He stilled. 

She looked steadily at him. "Granny told me, just before she died. How you visited her one day. What you had become. I always wondered what you had made of yourself. I guess now I know."

He looked away, ashamed. "I never wanted her to know, not really. I didn't want her to live with the shame."

"It was never a question of shame. As far as I'm concerned, forewarned is forearmed, and that's what the family has been all these years. You're obviously a fine young man, William. Or should I call you a fine old man, great-uncle Will? I don't really understand the etiquette of these situations," she added dryly.

"Somehow I don't think Mrs. Post ever got around to writing the chapter on dealing with undead relatives," he cracked, still unsure of where this was heading.

"I always wondered what your life – may I call it that? – was like. Granny was certain you were more than the monster you showed her. She used to wonder where you were, what you were doing."

Spike shrugged, uncomfortable with her regard. "Oh, I was a monster alright. And if you knew what I was --" he corrected himself. "If you knew what I _am_, what the bollocking hell were you doing inviting me in?"

Her eyes twinkled at him. "It doesn't matter much, these days. I'm seventy-eight years old, and I've had a good innings. I'm still in good health, but there's no one much to miss me if I go. Besides, I always hoped I'd meet you, one day."

"You. Do. Not. Invite. Vampires. Inside. Your. Home." He frowned at her, trying to look threatening. "Ever," he added.

"Yes, Great Uncle Will," she replied demurely. "I'll remember. Now tell me about …"

* * *

... To be continued ... 


	4. London

**Title:** In giving, we receive   
**Author: **Leadlight   
**Feedback:** Please! E-mail me or Sign my Guestbook!  
**Summary: **Post-Season 6. S/B and G/A (yay!). My thoughts on where Spike might go now..   
**Spoilers: **The teensiest bit of (unverified) season 7 spoilage. And lots of speculation. And - I admit it - an overdose of shippy longing.   
**Disclaimer: **Not mine. I'm just borrowing them for a few days.   
**Thanks:** To my wonderful team of betas: Jacq, Degan, and everyone at RW. And to Vickie who kindly checked that I hadn't buggered up any of the English references. 

* * *

**CHAPTER 4**

"It wasn't long after you died, Mum," Spike mumbled. He'd lit a cigarette and was leaning against the nearest tombstone – fortunately his own – for a bit of a chat.

"The others – Angelus, Darla and Dru – were all getting a bit uppity with me. Seems I wasn't good for anything; I was just part of the group so Dru had something to cuddle up to when Angelus was busy with Darla. I was bloody fed up, so I decided I'd show them I could be evil too.

"I went round to the house one night – Livvy was there, tidying things up. She looked up and saw me in the doorway. Her eyes grew round and she paled. 'Will?' she asked. 'Is it really you? There was a young man – a body. Uncle Roger told us it was you. We thought you were dead.' 

She waited for me to say something, but I just stood there. After all that time, I didn't know what to say to her. Maybe she thought I was a ghost, or maybe she was so far gone in grief that she just didn't care.

"Her eyes filled with tears. 'Mama is dead, Will,' she told me. 'This house; it's to be sold. I'm married now, to Robert Carmichael. We have a good home, with two little ones and another on the way.' She was still as beautiful as ever."

He ran a hand through his hair, smiling bitterly.

"I'd gone there with all the hate I could muster. Angelus drained his whole family when Darla made him, or so they told us. Why should I be any different? I wanted to do something big and dramatic – surprise them and get their attention, show them that I could be as evil as any of them. But in the end – she was Livvy. I could no more bite her than I could have staked Drusilla, in those days. 

"She never invited me in. I don't know whether she knew that much, or whether it simply never occurred to her. I could have waited outside on the street, though, but I didn't. Instead, I put on my game face. She screamed; I ran back to the gang. Beat myself up over it for years; I felt I'd taken the coward's way. I could never decide what was worse: showing her what I was, or not following through with what I'd set out to do. Either way, she should never have had to live with the knowledge of what I was.

"Nancy, tonight, was like her. Reminded me of the Niblet, too; must have been the endless questions. She told me Livvy went straight out and found a way to contact the Watchers' Council. She never told those useless prats why she did it, so I'm guessing they never connected her to me. She kept the secret all her life, but Nancy decided the rest of 'em needed to know. All the family know now, even the kids. 

"I stayed for a game of Scrabble with Nancy. Poor old soul gets lonely. I promised I'd go round next week too; she was talking about getting the kids over there as well. If she does, I'll be sure to have a word to them about neglecting the old folk."

He paused, scuffing at the ground with his toe.

"I nearly didn't go, Mum. After I saw that family, Livvy's great-great-great-grandson and his kids. They were so happy. I figured knowing about me might just bugger them up – 'scuse the language, mum. 'Meet my Uncle Will… oh, right, he's the evil undead.' And now, it seems they've known all along. Funny how things work out."

He stubbed his cigarette into the ground. 

"This might be the last time I get by. I'm heading back to Sunnydale; back to Buffy, I guess. Seems Willow – that's the witch – might be headed for a spot of bother. Never saw myself as the Watcher type, but that's what I'll be doing. For Willow, that is; I think I'll steer clear of Buffy. As much as I can, anyway. Best thing I can do for her, now. Tell Joyce not to worry, though. I won't let any nasties near her girls.

"I'll miss our talks. It helps sometimes to chat things out with you. D'you think Joyce'd mind if I dropped by her grave? Guess you could pop on over there yourself sometimes.

"Tell Tara, if you see her, that I'll keep a watch over her grave as well. She had a wicked sense of humour; I think you'd've liked her. Don't know what you'd have made of the other girls, though.

"Anyway, it'll be light soon. I need to push off."

He stilled, completely serious now. 

"I'm sorry, mum. Really sorry, I mean. For everything. Before, I wasn't sorry, and I thought I could change anyway. But now I _have_ changed, and I have to go back to make things better. Or at least to try." He stood, absently rubbing his shoulder. "Don't know if I'll be back. So I guess this is goodbye, then."

He glanced around once, then bent to press a gentle kiss onto her tombstone. He patted it once, gently, then turned and strode away without a backward glance.

***

"So after Dru dumped me that last time, I ended up back in Sunnydale again," Spike continued. "I was looking for the Gem of Amarra – it makes the vampire who wears it invulnerable. I found it, too."

The children's eyes were round; they hung on his every word. Their parents were trying to look more blasé, although the forkful of spaghetti held midway between Richard's plate and mouth suggested that he was rather more engrossed in the story than he was admitting.

"Is that when you got your soul?" asked Stephanie in a hushed voice.

"Nah, I was still evil in those days. Went after the Slayer. I'd've killed her there, if it hadn't been for that –  for a lady I associated with. She told the Slayer about the ring. Buffy pulled it off my finger and whipped my –er- defeated me soundly. I was lucky to get away."

"Was she your girlfriend, Uncle Will?" asked Emily. Hamish rolled his eyes.

Spike looked startled. "No, love. Slayer's too good to go dating demons."

She giggled. "Not the Slayer, silly. The other lady."

"Don't tease your uncle, Em," said her mother. "That's none of our business."

Spike nodded at the little girl. "Yes she was, Emily. Her name was Harmony, and I wasn't very nice to her at all in those days."

"Was she a vampire?"

"Yeah. I didn't bite her, though. She was already a vamp when I came back to Sunnydale."

"So what happened next?" asked Hamish, who had scarcely taken his eyes from Spike since he and Nancy had arrived and been formally invited into the family's home.

"Next, I got caught by the government."

Sarah looked up at this. "You mean the government know about vam – people like you?"

"It's okay to say it," said Spike, and the children giggled at their mother's discomfort. "Yes, the government knew all right. They had their own private SS – full of young boys playing soldiers. They'd go out at night, catch all the demons they could, then take us back to their bunker for their scientists to use in their experiments. I was one of the lucky ones; they didn't cut me up, just stuck in a chip in my head that meant I couldn't bite anyone."

"So was _that_ when you got the soul?" asked Stephanie.

Nancy chuckled. "Slow down, dear. There's no hurry."

"Yes there is," said Stephanie, "_We're_ not immortal. At this rate, we'll be dead before he gets there."

Sarah and Richard looked shocked, but Spike and Nancy chuckled at the girl's directness.

"That's when I started hanging out with the Scoobies," Spike went on. "That's what the Slayer and her pals call themselves," he explained. "See, once I got the chip, I couldn't bite anyone. I needed help, and Harmony wasn't about to help me out. In the end, I was so desperate, I went to her Watcher's place and begged them to let me in."

"And they made friends with you?"

"Nah, not then love," he answered Emily. ""They didn't like me at all, but I made myself useful see. Giles – Buffy's Watcher – I was able to do him a couple of good turns in return for a handful of dead presidents. Stayed at his place for a while, then I moved on to live with Buffy's friend Xander. He works in construction now. In those days, he was dating Anyanka – she'd been a vengeance demon until Giles smashed her power centre."

"Wow – so it was like a gang of four, and then you came along and made it five?"

"Not exactly. There was another Scooby – Willow. Back then, she was just starting out as a witch. Her girlfriend Tara helped out too." He paused, eyes downcast. "Tara died last year. It sent Willow kind of crazy. She's on the road to recovery, but it's going to take a while."

There was silence.

"Magic?" said Hamish in disgust. "You mean like in fairytales?"

Stephanie and Emily cast him equally disgusted looks. "We're talking to our great-great-great-great uncle the vampire and you're worried about magic?"

"I suppose it is kind of silly," said Hamish. "But I'm not going to tell the guys at school I believe in magic."

"That sounds wise," Nancy chuckled.

"Please go on," said Sarah to Spike.

"Well, next thing you know, Slayer has a little sister."

"A baby?" asked Emily, eyes darting hopefully to Sarah and Richard. It was clearly a discussion they'd had before, without much success to judge by the tolerant looks on their faces.

"Nah. See, that was the funny part. It was like she'd always been there. Turned out, she was actually the key to unlocking one of the nastier hell dimensions."

"You mean she was evil?"

"Not at all. She was just a normal teenage girl. A group of monks decided that the best way to protect the key would be to send it to the Slayer in the form of a sister."

"Why a sister?" asked Stephanie, puzzled.

"They needed it to be something she would protect with her life," said Spike. "We don't always get along with our sisters –,"

"Or brothers," interjected Emily with a grin at Hamish.

"We'll always look out for them, though," Spike continued. "They went further – they actually made Dawn out of Buffy somehow. She was a part of her. That's important, because one of the hellgods was actually trapped here. She wanted to use Dawn to open a portal to get back."

"But how?" asked Richard.

"See, there's the thing," said Spike sadly. "To get back to the hell dimension, Glory – the hellgod - needed Dawn's blood. We all tried to stop her, but we were too late. She'd built this huge scaffolding, and taken Dawn up there. I tried to get to Dawn – I nearly had her safe - but one of Glory's followers pushed me off the top of the tower." He reached for his wine and sipped it slowly, remembering the horror of that night..

"Buffy made it to the top, though. She defeated a god and saved the world again. Saved her little sis, too. Only problem is, she did it by sacrificing herself. She died closing the portal."

There was shocked silence. Nancy dabbed at her eyes with a lace handkerchief. They hadn't expected this.

Hamish was the one to say it. "But she's not really dead, right? I mean, she's a hero."

Spike shook his head sadly. "She died all right, mate. We buried her in the forest. Xander made her a tombstone and everything: 'Buffy Anne Summers. She saved the world a lot.' We didn't tell anyone she was gone. Didn't want the nasties knowing there was one less Slayer in the world.

"I spent five months beating myself up about it. Figured if only I'd been faster, stronger, more - something, I'd have been able to save her. Every night, I'd come up with a new way I could have done it." He paused, reflecting, and the adults glanced at each other. Clearly the Slayer's death had affected their relative more strongly than he was telling them. "Then one day I went over to her old house, to mind Dawn – and there she was."

"Who?"

"Buffy. Turns out Willow and the others – Xander, Anya and Tara – had cast a spell to bring her back. Bad magics too – not the sort of thing they had any business messing with. I'm betting that was where Willow started to go wrong.

"Anyway, that's the deal. Willow's spent the last five months with a coven in Devon, being rehabilitated. They're sending her back to Sunnydale for a visit, and Giles has asked me to tag along. I'll be keeping an eye on her, making she doesn't slip back into bad habits."

"But what about your soul?" Stephanie reminded him. "When did you get that?"

Spike frowned and looked down at the ground. "I did something bad," he said. "I never meant to, but I nearly hurt someone I cared about. Afterwards, when I realised what had happened to me, I realised that as long as I had no soul, I could never be sure I wouldn't do that again. So I went off to Africa, to a demon I'd heard of. Had to pass a few tests, but I won my soul. And here I am."

Each of them thought about what those tests might have entailed; each person decided they'd probably rather not know.

"Is Sunnydale near Disneyland?" asked Emily, suddenly.

"Not too far, I guess," Spike replied.

She turned excitedly to her parents. "Can we visit Uncle Will in Sunnydale and go to Disneyland?"

Sarah smiled at her daughter's enthusiasm. "We'll see."

"She's been desperate to visit Disneyland for the past two years," Richard explained. "We tried taking the children to EuroDisney but it just wasn't enough for them."

Sarah turned to the children. "Now it's bedtime for you lot. You've stayed up late enough to listen to your Uncle Will. Off you go now."

The children grumbled but did as they were told, each bidding Spike and Nancy a good night. Emily surprised him by climbing onto his lap to hug him. 

"We'll visit you soon, I promise."

Spike grinned. "Just make sure you bring Nancy along too, love."

The adults adjourned to the sitting room while the children went upstairs to bed. From their position on the sofa, Spike and Nancy could clearly see first Stephanie and then Hamish too sneak down the stairs to sit on the landing, eavesdropping on the conversation.

Their after-dinner chat brought out more of the truth of Spike's relationship with Buffy and the Scoobies than he'd really wanted to share. It was uncomfortable and somewhat confronting for him to think about facing them again, after all that had happened.

Nancy covered a yawn, and Spike realised it was later than he'd thought.

"Best push off then," he said, standing.

Richard and Sarah saw them to the door. 

"Come back anytime," said Sarah warmly. "It's been a pleasure to meet you."

Richard nodded, shaking Spike by the hand. "I'll hope we can bring the children over for a visit," he added. "You say Buffy has the –er- Hellmouth pretty well under control?"

Spike nodded. "I'd say helping Willow settle back in with her friends is likely to be the hardest thing I'll have to face back there."

* * *


	5. London / Bath

**Title:** In giving, we receive   
**Author: **Leadlight   
**Feedback:** Please! E-mail me or Sign my Guestbook!  
**Summary: **Post-Season 6. S/B and G/A (yay!). My thoughts on where Spike might go now..   
**Spoilers: **The teensiest bit of (unverified) season 7 spoilage. And lots of speculation. And - I admit it - an overdose of shippy longing.   
**Disclaimer: **Not mine. I'm just borrowing them for a few days.   
**Thanks:** To my wonderful team of betas: Jacq, Degan, and everyone at RW. And to Vickie who kindly checked that I hadn't buggered up any of the English references.   


* * *

**CHAPTER 5**

It surprised him that he had so many goodbyes to make. Even his taciturn landlady looked sorry to hear that he was leaving. He'd told Giles and Anya he needed the two weeks to make his decision, but they all knew what it would be. He needed the time to set things in order so he could return to Sunnydale.

All the guides from the Sunday night tours took the tour together on his last night. The tourists hadn't known what they were in for, or quite what they were getting as the three took turns trying to outdo one another with tall tales of real and imagined supernatural threats. Spike kept a sardonic half-smile on his face and an abstracted, amused air about himself, suppressing the emotions that threatened to bubble to the surface. He'd miss them all, and he was touched by the efforts they had gone to for him. He had fallen out of the habit of making friends during his hundred or so years of killing, and was surprised to realise that he'd made some so easily. It made the prospect of his unfeted return to Sunnydale seem bleaker somehow, to be leaving friends and returning to a place where he'd never been wanted. Useful, sometimes, but never wanted.

He gave each of the guides a self-defence kit he'd assembled. Each contained holy water (Spike was fully aware of the irony of a vampire buying holy water with money he had earned legitimately), a silver cross, and a stake he'd carved. It wasn't much, but maybe it would save one of them one day. They would miss him, and for more than his fighting abilities; he believed that, and wrapped the belief around himself like a cocoon. Briefly, he wondered whether he was doing the wrong thing. He had friends here, family too. In London, he loved and was loved. In Sunnydale, there was Buffy. And Dawn.

There was no choice, really. Even before he considered the rest of them. If there was a chance either of the girls needed him, he would go without a second thought.

The lads at the meat plant threw him a party on his last night. A few beers and a round of cooling fish and chips later, they presented him with a parcel "from all of us, to take with you to California." He didn't know whether to laugh or cry when he opened it to reveal half a dozen bottles of tanning lotion and a giant beach towel emblazoned with the Union Jack.

***

The following evening, he boarded the train to Bath for his meeting with Giles and Anya. This time, Anya was there before him, in tweed no less. She'd always liked to dress the part; he wondered whether she'd drag out a grass skirt if she visited New Guinea. If she did, he hoped someone would save the photos for him.

"Spike," she said with a bright smile when he entered the flat. "Are you ready to return to Sunnydale and take on your new role in the exciting world of retail?"

He shook his head. "Not quite yet, love. It's Willow's leave pass weekend; got to meet up with her tomorrow night. Then Sunday I've got plans; but Monday I'm all yours." He started to leer reflexively, then thought better of it, his expression freezing somewhere between teasing lust and embarrassment.

"Sorry," he muttered, only to be met with odd looks from both Giles and Anya. An awkward silence filled the room.

Anya smiled. "I told you he would help us, Giles."

"I'm doing this for Willow, right." The words burst from Spike. "I've been somewhere similar; never had any help trying to change. It's hard, and it's lonely." He looked steadily at Giles. "But I won't be your tattletale."

Giles raised a hand but Spike continued. "I'll watch what she's up to, and I'll call you if you're needed. I'll even let you know how she is." He glanced at Anya, smiling apologetically. "Had a run in with a spot of spying myself. It caused a lot of pain and bother and I don't care to inflict that on anyone else, let alone the witch. I'd be happy to help you out in the shop, lo- Anya." He bit the reflexive endearment off just in time before continuing, "And I'd be grateful for a place to stay, but I'm nobody's stoolie."

Giles stood. "No one's asking you to do that, Spike. We can't be Willow's keepers, but neither can we ignore her tremendous potential to do harm. It's only five months since she nearly destroyed the world; our responsibility to humanity has to go beyond her privacy as an individual."

Spike ran a hand through his hair, grimacing. "I get that. Even though I've never been one for the moral dilemmas. I'll keep you up to date on her state of mind, and I'll tell you if I think she's slipping, or if anything else seems odd. But that's it. No following her around, no searches. Girl's got to have a little privacy left to her."

Anya frowned. "But she can't be trusted." She turned to the Watcher. "Giles, you know what was in her mind. She's a danger to everyone around her." She frowned, hands clenched in her lap. "I don't want her to destroy the world. I like it here."

Giles reached out to cover Anya's hands with one of his own.

"I'm sure it will be all right, Anya," he reassured. "I was wrong to leave Sunnydale when I did. I knew Willow had used dangerous magics, but I was so engrossed in what had happened to Buffy that I never stopped to think about the rest of you." He patted her hand gently, then reached up to remove his glasses and wipe them absently.

Spike grinned ruefully. "You weren't the only one consumed with Buffy," he commented.

Giles shook his head, rolling his eyes before he segued to a less unpalatable subject. 

"If you do this, Spike, I will need to hear from you every week about Willow's progress. I'll trust you to tell me what I need to know. I'm sure you understand what the consequences could be."

Spike nodded. "It's a deal then." 

Anya smiled. 

"So, what's it to be?" he asked her. "You going to pop me over there or is it the witch express?"

Giles cleared his throat. "Um, neither actually," he replied. "Anya can't teleport others, only herself. I forgot you wouldn't know that. You'll be flying – it's business class, and I've warned the airline that you have a strong sunlight allergy and cannot be exposed to any ultraviolet rays. They assure me they've dealt with the same problem many times." He broke off, a quizzical look on his face. "I suspect I should be more bothered by that particular piece of news. Seems vampires are finally catching up with the times."

Spike grinned. Less at the joke, more at the business class ticket. Free booze, fancy food and the comfort to stretch his legs. It didn't get much better. "I'll be there," he replied. "So, have you told anyone I'll be back?"

"You mean Buffy?" Anya asked in her usual direct manner. "No; Giles thought you might not want her to know just yet. Of course, I don't know how that will work out," she continued, "since Giles gave her a key to the shop and she comes and goes as she likes. So she will probably see you accidentally anyway." She paused, considering. "I don't think she really likes surprises."

"I know she'll find out pretty quick, but I'd just as soon keep it quiet for now, thanks," Spike replied. He still wasn't sure how he was going to tell her he was back, or when it had progressed from _if_ to _how_ although that was probably around the time he'd agreed to work at what was effectively her second home. At any rate, he was certain he could do it better than Anyanka.

"You go up to London much, Rupert?" he asked casually.

Giles looked surprised. "Every fortnight or so. I consult occasionally at the British Museum, and the Watchers' Council have a library there that I try to visit fairly regularly. Why?"

"Got someone I'd like you to keep an eye on, if you don't mind. My great-niece, if you can believe it. She's a feisty old bird, but she gets lonely. It'd be a relief to know someone was looking in on her."

Spike rarely wished he had a camera, but the stunned look on Giles' face really needed to be captured for posterity. He grinned.

"Tell you what, drive me back to London tomorrow and I'll take you to meet her. We can take her out for dinner before I have to meet Willow."

***

Dinner with Nancy went surprisingly well. With the exception, perhaps, of her asking Anya and Giles how long they had been a couple. 

Giles had looked flustered, and Anya had explained, "Oh no. We're not a couple. We only thought we were engaged and shared passionate kisses when Willow cast her forgetting spell, but then it wore off and I was engaged to Xander again. But he lacked the courage to tell me he didn't want to get married and had only proposed because the world was ending, so he ran away from our wedding when a man I had formerly cursed showed him inaccurate visions of our unhappy future lives. Then I had badly timed comfort sex with Spike to help me feel better. But Xander and his friends all saw it on some spy cameras and were filled with moral outrage." She looked at Giles, biting her lip. "That was an inappropriate level of detail, wasn't it?"

Giles grinned at her. "As the only person here born after 1924, I really don't feel qualified to pass judgement." 

Nancy twinkled at them both. "Personally, I always thought eavesdroppers deserve whatever they get to hear, my dear – or see, in this case."

Later, when Giles and Anya had gone to fetch the car, she turned to Spike.

"I don't know when I've seen a pair of young people so clearly suited to one another," she whispered. 

He laughed and kissed her. "You promise you'll write to me?"

"Of course, Uncle Will. I always try to be a dutiful niece."

He shook his head. "Incorrigible minx is more like it, love. And did you see the looks the waiter kept giving you every time you'd call me that?"

Old people weren't supposed to grin. It was an expression typically lost some time in one's forties, along with the wide-eyed stare of innocence. Somehow, Nancy had retained both, and demonstrated them in quick succession. "It's a sign of respect, Uncle Will."

"You're not too old to put across my knee, missy," he quipped back. "Well you are, actually. And I've got this bloody chip stopping me. But if I didn't, and you were seventy years younger, I'd box your ears for you. Or tan your hide or … something nasty."

Nancy looked at him with an affectionate smile. "I hope you were more convincing when you were evil."

***

He met Willow where they had parted, in Trafalgar Square. She was full of stories of what she had learned to do, and how close she felt her powers were to being restored. She spoke a little about life with the coven, outlining her daily ritual and explaining the meditation and concentration exercises they had her working on, but lapsed into silence when he began to probe.

"This'll be the only time we can catch up like this, love," he said apologetically. "I won't be able to meet up with you here again."

She looked up, glaring at him in anger that instantly faded to hurt. "Why?"

"I'm heading back there. Can't keep away, it seems."

She frowned. "Back to Sunnydale? Will Buffy even want to see you?"

"I don't know, but here's what I reckon. If I stay clear of her, she needn't ever know I'm back. But I can be there in case she needs me, rather than stuck here."

Willow frowned thoughtfully. "Good luck," she said. "I'd steer clear of Xander if I were you."

He laughed. "No fear of that. And I don't think you'll get any arguments from him either. Think I'll be keeping mostly to myself, although Anya's promised me a job at the Magic Box. That'll be the best way to reach me now."

Willow looked at him strangely. "You're going back to Sunnydale to work at the Magic Box, but you don't think you'll be seeing Xander or Buffy? I hope that invisibility thing works out for you, Spike."

* * *

... To be continued ... 


	6. On the move

**Title:** In giving, we receive   
**Author: **Leadlight   
**Feedback:** Please! E-mail me or Sign my Guestbook!  
**Summary: **Post-Season 6. S/B and G/A (yay!). My thoughts on where Spike might go now..   
**Spoilers: **The teensiest bit of (unverified) season 7 spoilage. And lots of speculation. And - I admit it - an overdose of shippy longing.   
**Disclaimer: **Not mine. I'm just borrowing them for a few days.   
**Thanks:** To my wonderful team of betas: Jacq, Degan, and everyone at RW. And to Vickie who kindly checked that I hadn't buggered up any of the English references.   
**Author's Note:** Apologies for the delay in posting this chapter. I have some personal stuff going on in R/L that is sucking my time and my ability to concentrate on writing. (Now even more - darn burglars!) Hopefully more soon. Thanks to Jacq for the joke about bodily functions g

* * *

**CHAPTER 6**

The flight might as well have been called The Vampire Special. Not that there were others of the undead persuasion on the plane, but the timing meant the entire flight was spent in darkness. Leaving London at 8 p.m., it landed in Sunnydale just after 11:30 the same night.

Spike's window seat gave him a wonderful view. He'd flown before, of course, but only short-haul flights, usually on the ticket of whichever passenger he'd just bitten. He'd made a game of it for Dru – a twisted version of the perennial mystery flight – but they'd never left the United States that way. Lack of ID could make airports hard even for vampires, although they'd fed on their fair share of border guards and customs officers at regular border crossings.

Giles had fixed that now: either the Watchers' Council had useful connections, or the shady characters Spike had suspected lay in the Watcher's past had paid up in spades. 

He had it all, now. Passport, a British driver's licence, even a Green Card. He didn't know how they'd managed to come by that one, and suspected he didn't want to. He had a shiny new identity to match, almost. Anya had suggested he adopt the name Randy Giles; fortunately, Giles had been as revolted by that idea as Spike. "Mr. William Carmichael Spike" might not be the most creative name they could have come up with, but at least he'd have no trouble remembering it, and the tie to Nancy and the kids reminded him that he was part of a family again. He even had a checking account with a healthy balance. Now that was a definite first.

The flight attendants clearly knew what he was. He'd refused a meal, instead taking a long draught from his silver hip flask. _Must remember to fill it with whisky before the plane lands so I have one less thing to explain to customs,_ he reminded himself.

He'd stood up to stretch his legs a little, and had been amused – and somewhat impressed – by the attendants' immediate reaction. A couple had just looked like rabbits caught in a spotlight, but the others had moved quickly and smoothly into position, two shadowing him and others moving to isolate the toilet areas. He knew from experience that a body could go undiscovered there until after landing if you locked the door neatly behind you.

"Cleanliness is next to Godliness," his mother had maintained. The habit of cleanliness had stood him well throughout his rather dramatically un-godlike years, however much Angelus and the others had mocked him for it. There were times when you wanted to leave a conspicuous message … and there were times when you wanted to return quickly and quietly to your seat before some young flight attendant got creative with the piece of wood he was oh-so-casually flipping from hand to hand.

Spike sat, took another swig from his flask, and began once again to leaf through the oh-so-boring in-flight magazine. At least the killing had made the long flights less boring.

***

There was no one to meet him at the airport, of course. He'd known there wouldn't be, but something inside him had kept hoping, regardless. Perhaps it was the tearful reunions all around him that made weary travellers long for their own.

He didn't have much luggage, although he'd brought presents for all of them. For Anya, a history of currency and a rather gaudy bracelet of Victorian gold sovereigns. Fudge Toffees for Clem, with a selection of other British snack items to appease the demon's insatiable appetite for strange new foods. A duty-free MP3 player for Dawn. (What did you give a teenager anyway? He'd picked up a top from The Gap just in case.) For Xander, he'd bought a Union Jack t-shirt and a snow globe showing Buckingham Palace, wondering why he bothered.

Finding the right gift for Buffy had been hard. In the end, he'd settled on the obvious: a giant pair of fluffy slippers shaped like the Tower of London, and an antique dagger he'd picked up at Bermondsey market early one morning. A delicate ruby and diamond pendant and a pair of matching heart-shaped earrings were buried at the bottom of his bag. Best just to forget about them, he told himself.

He hired a car at the airport, although all that legitimacy was nearly enough to send him out to steal a car from the parking lot instead. Funny how hard it was to drive on the right, after only five months away. He passed the familiar landmarks – the Docks, the road to the dam, the out-of-town crematorium, before reaching the "Welcome to Sunnydale" sign. Here, the temptation proved too much for him. He turned the car around and drove back, parking beside the sign. Stepping out of the car, he stood and stared at the gaudy welcome message, before delivering a swift, sharp kick that left the sign hanging limply by one corner.

"It's tradition," he announced to no-one in particular, then returned to the car and drove uneventfully to the Magic Box.

***

The basement apartment was as cosy as Giles had said it would be; smaller even than his crypt. It made up for it in amenities, though, and Giles had installed cable, as promised.

When he'd arrived in England, Spike had scoffed at the "luxuries" – power that didn't go out in a strong wind, running water, a proper telly signal. Maybe he was going soft, but he was glad not to have to go back to doing without.

First thing he'd need was some furniture; it was a good thing the Sunnydale mall opened nights. He wondered idly which idiot was responsible for that particularly smart decision, in a town crawling with vampires and other nasties. He'd made use of it himself; it was like one of those posh restaurants where you could choose your lobster while it crawled around the tank.

***

He slept for most of the day, catching up briefly with Anya, who agreed to return his rental car the next day. The Magic Box was much the same, with the addition of the small apartment and some securely locked heavy-duty cages around some of the 'upstairs' bookcases.

His trip to the mall left him considerably poorer, as the new owner of a comfy lounge suite, fancy telly and VCR, a coffee table, a queen-sized sleighbed, bedclothes and a huge framed photograph of Audrey Hepburn in _Breakfast at Tiffany's. _Sometimes you just need to have a touch of class_, he figured. He arranged for next-day delivery to the Magic Box, then set off for the cemetery._

Clem was surprised and pleased to see him. He was even happier when Spike told him he could stay on in the crypt.

"I see Buffy a bit," he volunteered. "She's stopped asking when you'll be back though."

Spike shrugged, ignoring how much that piece of news hurt him.

"Probably found herself another bloke," he commented, trying to sound casual.

"Oh, I don't think so," replied Clem anxiously. "I don't think she'd have time, for one thing. The Hellmouth's been pretty busy lately. There's a group of Grshnit demons that have moved into some of the discarded containers near the Docks. I'm not sure what they're up to, but there's certainly more of us around than there used to be."

The demon's sweeping gesture clearly included Spike as "one of us."

Spike frowned. He'd have to check that out.

***

He felt her before he saw her, on the way back to the Magic Box. She'd surprised a couple of vampires feasting on a homeless man, and had taken longer than she used to to dispatch them. Had she felt something too, he'd wondered; she'd certainly looked around once, briefly, almost letting the vampires get the jump on her. He'd have to tell her – but no, he wasn't ready to face her just yet. Not unless she needed him, that was.

Once she was safely home, he hurried back to the Magic Box and dragged out the old typewriter he'd found in the basement. Inserting a clean piece of paper, he typed:

SLAYER -- ALWAYS REMEMBER WHERE YOUR OPPONENTS ARE. ONE OF THOSE VAMPS TONIGHT NEARLY GOT YOU BECAUSE YOU DIDN'T CONCENTRATE. NEVER FORGET THAT YOU ARE ONE AND THEY ARE MANY.

Here was one way he could help her without having to see her. He did a quick sweep of the streets and pushed the note under her door before heading back to his apartment for a quick nap on a training mat he'd 'borrowed' from the back room.

***

The following day passed quickly. Spike worked at the Magic Box all afternoon and took delivery of his furniture. After a quick stop by Willy's bar that evening ("Tell no-one you've seen me"), he had a new piece of the information he needed.

He was in an alley looking at a patch of bluish-green slime when he felt her approaching. He just had time to run up a fire escape and hide in a doorway before she entered the alley. She paused, and looked around, a hopeful, tentative look on her face. 

"Spike?" she called. "Is that you?"

The wind blew some discarded chocolate wrappers down the alley and she sighed, shaking her head. Hunching her shoulders into her jacket, she turned away and wandered slowly home.

***

There was another note waiting for her the next morning; typed, like the first one.

Y'GRAVI DEMONS TYPICALLY INHABIT SMALL, DARK PLACES. THEY ARE HIGHLY DANGEROUS AROUND THEIR MATING SEASON, WHEN THEY EXUDE POOLS OF SLIMY BLUISH-GREEN MUCOUS. THIS IS TOXIC TO HUMANS AND, IN SUFFICIENT QUANTITIES, CAN ALSO DISSOLVE CONCRETE. 

THERE IS A SMALL NEST BEHIND THE BANK ON THE CORNER OF HOWE AND POWER STREETS. YOU SHOULD BE ABLE TO TAKE THEM OUT, PROVIDED YOU REMEMBER THAT THEY CAN REGENERATE UNLESS THEY ARE DECAPITATED. AS THEY ARE DIURNAL, AND RETRACT THEIR HEADS INTO THEIR SHELLS WHEN SLEEPING, THEY CAN ONLY BE KILLED IN DAYLIGHT.

He'd wondered about using the word diurnal. Silly bint would probably think it meant they pissed twice a day or something similarly stupid, so he had taped the letter to a gift-wrapped Concise Oxford Dictionary.

***

Spike was in the basement sorting supplies when she came into the Magic Box. One of the many times he'd been grateful for the enhanced hearing that came with the fangs and lumpies.

"Hello, Buffy," said Anya, a little too brightly and loudly.

"There's something weird going on," said Buffy, apparently oblivious to the tone in Anya's voice. "You're still a vengeance demon, right?"

"Well, obviously," Anya replied.

"So you would be able to tell if someone you knew was in town, right? I mean, say, Spike wouldn't be able to sneak back into town without your knowing about it?"

"That's right," came the wary reply.

Buffy sighed. "It's just – I've been getting these weird anonymous messages. Today's was a tip-off about a nest of Y'gravi demons. They could have gotten really nasty, and I just didn't know what to look for. And yesterday there was a report on my fighting prowess. I know I'm not fighting as well as I did when I had someone to train with, but I am trying. It's been nearly a year since Giles gave me any pointers, and I feel like I'm not working as well by myself as I should be."

Anya made what were clearly meant to be sympathetic noises.

Buffy sighed. "And – I know this is going to sound weird – but it feels like Spike is here. It's like I have this itch that I can't quite reach; something's just a little bit off." She frowned. "I made some really stupid decisions, Anya, and now I don't know how to reach him and tell him those things."

Spike knew how hard it must have been for Anya to keep his secret, and could almost hear her fidgeting in the silence before Buffy continued in a determinedly bright voice.

"I've asked Dawn to come here after school today. I hope that's okay; I know it isn't her usual day, but I have some things I need to do."

***

Spike rang Giles that night, after hiding out in his apartment during Dawn's visit. He would have liked to go out and see her, to ask her how she was doing at school, and of course how her sister was. He was afraid, though, of what she might say to him; Anya had warned him that Xander had told them all about his assaulting Buffy. Of course, Xander hadn't explained how he'd felt about it afterwards, either. Maybe, one day, he'd get the chance to try to make things right.

Giles was well, and making plans to accompany Willow to Sunnydale. He'd stay for a week or so, as an "official" presence, then return to England, relying on Spike's reports to monitor Willow's progress from that point. Three weeks after that, he planned to return to Sunnydale to accompany her back to Devon. 

He was pleased to hear that Spike was settling in and that Anya and the Magic Box were both doing well. The Grshnit demons were another matter altogether, however; he promised to do some detailed research before leaving for Sunnydale.

***

Spike's next note was brief and to the point, and possibly more of a giveaway than he'd originally intended:

SLAYER – IF YOU KEEP WONDERING WHERE I AM, YOU'LL GET YOURSELF KILLED. STOP LOOKING AROUND FOR IMAGINARY MONSTERS AND FOCUS ON THE ONES YOU HAVE TO FIGHT.

* * *

... To be continued ... 


	7. Sunnydale

**Title:** In giving, we receive   
**Author: **Leadlight   
**Feedback:** Please!  
**Summary: **Post-Season 6. S/B and G/A (yay!). My thoughts on where Spike might go now..   
**Spoilers: **The teensiest bit of (unverified) season 7 spoilage. And lots of speculation. And - I admit it - an overdose of shippy longing.   
**Disclaimer: **Not mine. I'm just borrowing them for a few days.   
**Thanks:** To my wonderful team of betas: Jacq, Degan, and everyone at RW. And to Vickie who kindly checked that I hadn't buggered up any of the English references. And to all the other people who helped with this chapter. I hope I've learnt something from you all! 

* * *

**CHAPTER 7**

"What are you doing with the merchandise?" asked Anya as she hurried through the door of the Magic Box.

Spike jumped, nearly dropping the bowl of candles he was holding. "Just moving these over to the counter, love."

"But candles don't belong on the counter. The counter is where we keep the incense and other items to tempt customers to purchase inexpensive and unnecessary high-profit goods."

Spike grinned. "We're all out of incense, love. Sold it all this morning while you were out shopping. I figure the customers can set fire to these just as easily."

She smiled at him proudly. "I knew hiring you was an excellent decision. Just don't start asking me for a raise."

"I'd better be pushing off downstairs now though, love. Niblet's due any minute. At least she's working to a timetable; I'm not exactly keen to run into Buffy or Xander. I've asked Willow not to mention that I'm back." He paused, looking more closely at her. "Like the new hair colour. That honey colour suits you better than the lighter blonde."

She reached up, anxiously twisting a lock of hair around one freshly-manicured finger. "It just felt time for a change. The world of vengeance has been pretty quiet lately, and you had everything under control here, so I indulged myself by inappropriately spending large sums of money on excessive personal grooming. It's surprisingly relaxing."

Spike shook his head in amusement. "Giles is back tonight," he reminded her, as though she hadn't been checking her watch ever since her return.

The hand snuck back to the hair. "That's right. I have to check the quarterly figures; I don't want Giles to think I've not been taking good care of his money." 

*** 

"How are you holding up?"

Willow frowned. "I'm kinda nervous, actually." _Afraid to see her friends. Afraid they'd be afraid to see her. Afraid she'd be useless without her powers. Afraid her plans would fail - or, perhaps, afraid that they would succeed. Most of all, afraid of a Tara-less Sunnydale._

Giles smiled reassuringly at her. "They're all looking forward to seeing you. I had to talk them out of meeting our flight; I thought you might prefer a more gentle introduction."

Willow nodded. "Thanks. So where are we heading?"

Giles swore under his breath as another driver swerved into his lane. "Why can't you bloody Americans drive on the left like civilised people?" At Willow's snigger, he laughed too. It was good to be back in Sunnydale, bloody Americans or no.

Returning to her question, he replied, "There was an apartment available for sub-let in Xander's building. We've taken it for you for the month, so you'll be somewhere familiar."

_But not too familiar_, she thought. She wouldn't be staying where she and Tara - best not think about that now. Think about the souvenirs she'd brought for the friends she'd tried to kill last time she saw them, about the soda, popcorn and cookies they would share while avoiding the important questions, about anything but her lover's blood spattered across her chest and Tara's cold, lifeless body sprawled on the hard wooden floor.

Think about Xander; steady, old faithful, best friend Xander. Xander, who never seemed to worry that he had nothing to offer his friends but himself, who had reached out and stopped her destroying the world. Had reawakened some part of her with the ability to block out what she was doing, to bury her magic so deep that she might never reawaken it.

Think about Buffy, the Slayer. Her best friend. She'd ripped her out of heaven just to prove that she could, never noticed the despair that was consuming her, then kicked every square inch of her ass. She'd only stopped because Giles had arrived, distracting her before she'd destroyed her friend.

Think about Dawn, who she had tried to send back to whatever place she'd come from - or whatever state she'd come from. She'd mocked her, and denied Dawn's very humanity.

Think about Anya, left at the altar by the man she'd loved. At least that hadn't been Willow's fault, although the part where they'd all watched the demon and Spike together had been, kinda. She'd never felt comfortable with Anya - right now, she wondered if she'd ever feel comfortable with any of her Scooby friends. Giles was certainly feeling some constraint, to judge by his demeanour.

"I know this is hard," the Watcher said, interrupting her thoughts. "For what it's worth, I think you're very brave to be returning to Sunnydale. If there's anything I can do to help, you have only to let me know."

Willow smiled in acknowledgement. Giles was right. She was brave, and strong too. She could do this.

***

Giles opened his hotel door and greeted them with a handshake for Spike and a brief kiss and awkward hug for Anya that lasted just a second too long. He'd splashed out this time, getting a large room with a living area, so they could sit comfortably on sofas around a small table. A bottle of Californian red wine was a welcome accompaniment to their conversation.

"It's good to see you both," he said, looking somewhat rumpled in jeans and a sweatshirt; quite unlike the rather staid Watcher Spike had thought him when they had first met. Clearly, the jetlag of his trans-Atlantic flight was starting to catch up with him.

Anya smiled at him.

"How is Willow?" she asked a little nervously. "It must have been hard to return to Sunnydale. Since you're here, I'm assuming she didn't immediately go insane and try to kill everyone again."

Giles frowned. "She seems to be fine, although it's always hard to tell what Willow is thinking. I know she was very anxious about seeing Buffy and Dawn again, but that seemed to go relatively smoothly. They're both very focussed on helping her to heal."

Spike rubbed his head wearily. He'd never had a chance at that sort of acceptance from any of the Scoobies (present company and Dawn excluded, of course). Sometimes he wondered why he'd stuck it out for so long.

"So what's the plan?" he asked. "Willow said she'd try to get by when she could, so I guess I'll see her tomorrow or Friday. Can you two keep an eye on her till then?"

Giles nodded, and threw a quick look at Anya. "Xander said he'd taken the rest of the week off work, so I imagine he'll be with her most of the next few days."

"What?" Anya looked annoyed. "Stop looking at me. Xander means nothing to me anymore. A bad decision and a few years of stagnation." She tossed her head and reached into her bag for a mirror and lipstick, which she applied slowly and with exaggerated care.

"I'm sorry," Giles said. "I thought that you and he were working things out."

"There's nothing to work out," she responded. "He realised he wanted us to be together, and I realised I didn't. End of story."

Giles looked searchingly at her. It was clear that she meant it, and even clearer that she had accepted it and was no longer mourning the end of the relationship. For some reason, that felt good.

"Well I'd best be off," said Spike, standing, wondering whether he should simply slink out before they remembered he was there. "Still trying to get a handle on what the latest grand scheme involves."

"Ah yes," said Giles, moving to his bags. "I have a little information on the Grshnit culture as you requested. I'm not sure how much it will help, though." He passed Spike a sheaf of papers, then paused before adding a small white envelope to the pile. Addressed to Giles in England, it was postmarked Sunnydale and dated about a week before. "I think you should probably know what's in that letter, too," he explained with a troubled look that suggested he might not be quite as sure of that as he sounded. Spike frowned, and turned the letter over in his hands. It felt familiar, somehow. He pushed it carefully into his pocket. This felt like something he'd want to save to read in private.

As Spike left, Anya took a long sip from her glass.

"How does it feel to be back in Sunnydale?" she asked.

"Rather odd, actually," Giles replied. "It's good to be back, of course, although it's strange to leave England; I'm settled there now, as you have seen. At the same time, I can't help but notice how much has changed. Tara's gone, of course, and Dawn's growing up so fast, she hardly seems like the girl I remember. Buffy seems so much more settled, and Xander - I'd become used to thinking of you and Xander as a couple. He seems much younger now; less sure of himself."

Anya shrugged, not unkindly. "I don't blame Xander, at least not anymore. I probably should thank him really." She paused, collecting her thoughts. 

"Initiating a sexual relationship with Xander helped me to adjust to mortal life and brought us much happiness and many orgasms. Unfortunately, Xander was never comfortable with my Vengeance Demon past." Anya paused, collecting her thoughts. "Remember those fertility amulets I foolishly placed too close to Herbs and Incense? The scent of the herbs changed them somehow--they still worked but had strange side effects. I had to reduce the price by thirty percent! That's how Xander looks at Buffy now - like she's tainted goods. I could never be with someone like that again."

She shook her head as if to clear out those thoughts. 

"Spike's working at the Magic Box tomorrow from eleven. I need to be there to open up, but I'm free afterwards if you'd like to go over the ledgers. Our sales are continuing to increase, and Spike is proving a most satisfactory employee. He has an excellent understanding of the product range, and he charms the customers into making additional, discretionary purchases. Most of them are quite expensive."

Giles wasn't convinced he wanted to think about Spike being charming in the Magic Box right now, given the history between Anya and the vampire. "I should catch up with Willow in the morning," he said, "but I can be at the shop by eleven."

"Great," smiled Anya. "Perhaps we can eat lunch together. While we discuss the business." She fiddled with her hair, tucking several strands behind one ear.

Giles nodded. "I'd like that."

"I'd better be going then," she said, reaching for her bag. Giles agreed absently, escorting her to the door, one hand resting in the small of her back. He stood for a few moments, staring at the door after it closed behind her, then shrugged and rubbed one hand across his eyes before pulling off his jeans and sweatshirt and lying down on the bed to try to get some sleep. He had a lot to think about, but it would be easier if he was rested.

***

SLAYER - WHY WOULD A VAMPIRE BE PATROLLING OUTSIDE THE MALL EACH NIGHT BETWEEN 10 AND 11?

NICE RIGHT HOOK LAST NIGHT, BY THE WAY. YOU MIGHT NEED TO PRACTISE WITH THAT LEFT LEG, THOUGH - IT ISN'T KICKING SO WELL.

He left the note in the usual place, undisturbed - looked like they were still out catching up with Willow. He went past Xander and Willow's apartment block, taking a somewhat roundabout detour on his way back to the Magic Box. The lights were still on, and he thought he could hear the Slayer's laughter. He was tempted to stay and listen for a while, but remembered the pile of papers Giles had given him and hurried home.

To say that the information on Grshnit demons was sketchy would be doing it a kindness. Essentially, it boiled down to: 

· They existed. 

· They probably had horns on their shoulders, possibly had tails, and were believed to be a greyish colour, at least at certain times of the day. 

There were a couple of references that were worth following up, but nothing with any substance. He turned instead to the envelope, turning it over in his hands before reaching in to remove the letter. Settling himself on the sofa, he read:

_Dear Giles,_

_I know I'm not usually a lettery kind of person, but I don't know how to ask you this in person. I don't really know how to ask in a letter either, but here goes._

_For the past few days, I've had this strange feeling. Then I started getting these weird anonymous notes. No, not the sick and pervy kind - at least, I don't think they are - these are almost like the things you would say to me when I first started out. There's information about places I should check out, and feedback on my fighting - and whoever is writing them knows what they're talking about._

_I've looked to see if anyone is following me and I haven't seen anyone, although I get this weird feeling sometimes._

_You're going to think I'm crazy for asking, but do you know what happened to Spike? When we were together, last year, I could sort of sense him - I knew when he was around, and could 'feel' him when he was near. I haven't seen him since he left Sunnydale, but that's the same as the feeling I have now, although his friend Clem tells me he hasn't been back._

_Anyway, it got me thinking about everything that happened last year. The me and Spike thing, I mean. It's funny, but before it got complicated - before we started sleeping together, I mean (I can hear you cleaning your glasses from here), we were on the way to being friends. Real friends, I mean. And I kind of miss that - miss him, really._

_It's all so messed up. I mean, I told you I slept with him, but I never told you what he did to me, or what I did to him. I guess Xander filled you in on the first one, but I wasn't exactly a shining example of goodness and virtue. I thought I couldn't love him because he didn't have a soul, because he was an evil, unclean thing, but the truth is I couldn't love him because I was afraid of what he might do. And then, after all that, it was Willow who tried to end the world. Souled-up, old friend, safe and reliable Willow. I'm still not exactly sure how all that happened, but I realise now that I was judging by the wrong criteria._

_Don't get me wrong. What Spike and I had wasn't up there with the great romances of our time. It was messy and ugly - but I realise now that a lot of the messiness and ugliness was my fault. I was so focused on reminding myself why we couldn't be together, I forgot to notice the ways he had changed. When I let him be a lover (sorry, I know you really don't want to know this stuff. Trust me, I don't want to know details of your love life either!), I forgot to let him be a friend as well; not that I've ever really _been_ a friend to him. And while that doesn't excuse what he nearly did to me, I think it can help to explain how he came to it._

_Anyway, I've babbled enough. I just want to know whether there's any chance Spike might be here, or at least if you know where he is. If you can get a message to him, tell him I'm sorry. I'm sorry I ruined our friendship, I'm sorry I couldn't let him be good for me. I'm sorry I couldn't help him to be a better man._

_I'll see you next week, apparently. It's easier to mail this to you, though. I'm still not too big with the whole emotional chat-it-out thing. I'm really looking forward to seeing you, though. _

_Love,_

_Buffy._

He smoothed the corner where he'd gripped the letter too tightly. Folded it and returned it to the envelope, then removed it and unfolded it to read the words once again. He ran one hand through his hair, lost in thought and unsure of his next move. 

It was an apology, of sorts. Unheard of from the Slayer. She'd always been so secure in her moral righteousness that this was as unlikely and as unprecedented as anything that had already happened between them. 

He wondered what he'd have to do to get that apology in person.


	8. Sunnydale

**Title:** In giving, we receive   
**Author: **Leadlight   
**Feedback:** Please!   
**Summary: **Post-Season 6. S/B and G/A (yay!). My thoughts on where Spike might go now..   
**Spoilers: **The teensiest bit of (unverified) season 7 spoilage. And lots of speculation. And - I admit it - an overdose of shippy longing.   
**Disclaimer: **Not mine. I'm just borrowing them for a few days.   
**Thanks:** To my wonderful team of betas.   
**Distribution: **You're welcome to link to my site http://www.geocities.com/leadlightfic  
**Author's Note:** Thanks to those who helped with this chapter. It was hard to get right and I'm still not sure I've got it. I *promise* faithfully to post chapter 9 this week as well. Apologies also for ff.net thinking there are 2 more chapters than there really are. I can't find a way to fix that :-( (And thanks for all the great feedback!)

* * *

**CHAPTER 8**

Giles arrived at the Magic Box just after eleven the following morning. Spike smirked at the large bunch of flowers he'd brought "for the front counter". Could the man be any more obvious? Probably only if he actually realised the flimsiness of the excuses he was making – to himself as well as to others. Meanwhile, Anya had changed her clothes twice already this morning. He wasn't sure they knew what was happening between them, but it was certainly entertaining to watch. 

After a quick – almost cursory – look at the sales records, Giles and Anya headed off for lunch, leaving Spike to mind the Magic Box. He'd made a few sales, nothing major, when the bell over the door tinkled and he looked up to see Dawn entering the shop. She stopped a few feet inside the door, clearly thunderstruck at seeing him.

"Spike?"

"'s right, Niblet."

"How – how long have you been back?"

"It's been a couple of weeks now, but I wasn't sure how to let you know." _Wasn't sure you'd care_ was more like it.

"Ever heard of the telephone?" she asked teasingly before the memory of Xander's words returned.

Her withdrawal was complete, almost palpable. One minute she was there, the next minute she was cold and distant. "Why did you come back?" she asked him.

"It's home," he said simply, knowing it to be true. 

She frowned. "You should have stayed away. Wherever you were. Xander told me what you did. What you tried to do to Buffy, I mean. I didn't believe it at first." She paused and continued, "She's been acting weird lately. Are you seeing her again? Because that would be –"

He cut her off abruptly. "No and no. I'm not seeing her again, and I won't try to. You're not to worry, Dawn. I won't be doing anything like that again, and big sis won't be hanging round with the likes of me again. If you don't want me here when you are, I'll have a word with Anya. I'll stay away from you too."

She made an instinctive gesture towards him. "Buffy told me a little of what happened between you. She's never big on the detail, but I think I got the big picture. She said I shouldn't judge you for it, that I didn't know the whole story." She paused, looking up at him with those big eyes, then burst out, "You could have told me, Spike. I wish you'd trusted me."

Spike rubbed his head. "It was complicated, love. Lots of things going on. Besides, Slayer / Vampire? It was never going to work out. No sense your worrying about something that was only ever going to get messy."

"You should still have told me," she replied.

Spike looked away, abashed. Knowing she was right, just as he'd known it at the time. "You're right, Bit. We shouldn't have kept it from you. I'm sorry."

She frowned. That wasn't going to cut it this time. "I don't get it, Spike. I don't get how you could do it, I don't get why Buffy doesn't blame you, and I don't get why you came back. I trusted you - *Buffy* trusted you – and now I can never trust you again."

She turned and stalked to the far corner of the shop, where she picked up a duster and began to clean the shelves in frosty silence.

***

"- he even had the Council convinced that the Duke of York was a vampire!"

"That's just ridiculous," replied Anya as she and Giles entered the Magic Box. "The last member of the Royal Family to be vamped was Edward VI."

Giles did a double-take. "You mean King Edward –"

"Oh yes," replied Anya. "It was hushed up of course; they called it consumption and made out that he had been weak all his life, but in fact it was a fondness for late-night visits to seedy brothels that became his downfall."

Spike looked pointedly at the clock. "Service at lunch was slow, I gather."

Giles looked startled as he noted the time and reacted to Dawn's silent presence. Apparently Spike's return to Sunnydale hadn't been greeted with an excess of youthful joy. "I didn't realise it was so late. I'd best be off; I'm taking Willow and the Scoobies out for dinner." He had the grace to look uncomfortable at Spike's exclusion from the meeting, even though none of them officially knew of his return.

Spike shrugged as though it didn't matter. He'd not have expected an invitation anyway, and he could  use the time to do some more research on the Grshnit situation. Giles had promised to use the Watchers Council facilities to order any extra books he could trace. Apparently there was a thriving Inter-Library-Loan network for Occult and Magical Books, although the rarer tomes were generally copied before they were loaned. It seemed that the demons the books described and protected against were rather more scary than the enforcers of copyright, even such as it was in the world of the supernatural. Given the number Willow had pulled in the Magic Box, Spike could understand why they felt the need to duplicate them. Anya had saved the books she'd emptied, more as a macabre souvenir than out of any hope of restoring them, and he realised how much knowledge could have been lost through the Witch's one, desperate action.

"I'd best be off too," said Anya after Giles had left. "I need to get ready for dinner this evening. I'll be back by six for closing." She turned an admonishing eye on Dawn. "You dust those shelves well, missy. And mind you do as Spike tells you."

***

He had no new information for Buffy, but the habit of writing notes was hard to break. 

SLAYER – HOPE YOU ENJOYED YOUR NIGHT OFF. YOU NEED TO WORK ON CONTROL AND PRECISION. GET YOUR WATCHER TO TRAIN WITH YOU. WATCH YOUR TIMING AND MAKE SURE YOU WORK ON YOUR AIM. 

***

He cornered Anya the next morning when she arrived at the Magic Box. She was humming as she sorted the morning's mail; it was most unlike her to not be depressed by the sight of the electricity bill.

He cocked an eyebrow at her until she looked up in mock anger.

"Stop that, Spike. Your staring makes it hard for me to concentrate. It's most distracting. Go stare at the merchandise instead."

He smiled. "Got something you want to tell me, love?"

"What do you mean?"

"You and Giles, making with the big goo-goo eyes."

"We are not. There are no eyes."

He shook his head. "You're not fooling anyone, you know."

"Well go be fooled," she snapped. "Nothing is going on, and that's all there is to it."

She was worrying him now. She seemed so definite.

"Care to talk about it pet?"

"No." She paused, then rolled her eyes. "Yes."

She sat at the research table and motioned to the other bench. "It's complicated, Spike. I have these feelings for Giles. Every time I see him, they grow stronger. I can't decide whether I want to rip his clothes off and have wild monkey sex on the counter, or go rent a schmoopy movie and feed him strawberries and peeled grapes. And maybe oysters and powdered rhinoceros horn, although that is not as powerful an aphrodisiac as the powdered freeze-dried gizzards of a Makula demon." She sighed. 

"I think he has feelings for me too. Giles I mean, not the freeze-dried demon. But he hasn't said or done anything, and there's still the whole demons-and-humans-don't-mix thing to consider. Look how that worked out for you and Buffy."

Spike patted her shoulder. "The problems between me and Buffy had nothing to do with the demon/human thing, love. Well, maybe a little," he conceded. "You saw how messed up she was. She couldn't see me as anything except an evil, disgusting thing that she used to get her rocks off now and again. She didn't respect me, she couldn't trust me, and she was afraid her friends would hate her if they ever found out. And I never believed she would really be with me. Not exactly a recipe for mental health now, is it."

"Is that why you got the soul?" Anya asked, interested.

Spike froze. "What do you mean?"

"Your soul," she repeated slowly, as though he were deaf or – more likely - stupid. "Did you get it to show her you weren't evil? Because I could have told her that months before."

He appreciated the vote of confidence. "Guess I should have realised you'd know about that. I haven't told anyone, because it seems silly now. I got it so Buffy could finally trust me; so she could have what she deserved; a lover with a soul. Only now I've got it, I'm still the same bloke I always was. No change, as far as I can see. I even wanted to bite someone the other day; that git who tried to return the mandrake roots he'd stored six to a jar. Guess it's a bit of a dud, so let's just keep it between us, okay. No-one else knows about it, and I'd like to keep it that way."

She nodded. "If that's what you want. But there's nothing wrong with your soul, you know. It's working just fine. Maybe you should talk to Giles about it."

"Which brings us neatly back to the topic at hand," he pointed out. "Look, Anya. I've seen the way you two look at each other. I'd be sorry to see you pass up a chance to be happy."

Anya considered him for a moment, then straightened with a conspiratorial grin. "Can you mind the shop for the rest of the day? I have to go buy something casual yet provocative."

***

After lunching with Willow, Giles arrived at the Magic Box around three. He covered his disappointment at not seeing Anya well, Spike thought.

"Seeing as you're here anyway, d'you mind if I have a word?" asked Spike.

"Of course," replied Giles. "Have you learned something new about the situation with the Grshnit demons?"

"No, it's nothing like that, although I do need you to order me these books for me." He fumbled with the list of books, handing it to Giles. This is more – personal."

The Watcher looked uncomfortable. "Personal? I didn't realise that Buffy knew you were back."

Spike shook his head. "Don't get your knickers in a knot, Rupert. It's nothing like that." He shuffled uncomfortably. "See, when I left Sunnydale, I did something. Well, it was done to me. I went looking –"

"Is this about your soul, Spike?" Giles interrupted.

"Bloody Hell!" Spike rolled his eyes. "Is there anyone that doesn't know about this sodding soul? First Anya, now you. Why don't I just get a neon sign made? Got the soul, now wear the bloody badge."

Giles grinned at the vampire's reaction. "Actually, it was the coven. They were a little nervous about your watching over Willow, even when I vouched for you. Apparently they did some investigating on their own. For what it's worth, it seems your soul is a little more –er – permanent than Angel's."

"You mean I can – Yeah. Knew that one already. No curse, just the package." At the Watcher's somewhat startled look, he clarified. "Not that I've tried it out, or anything. Different source, that's all. Besides, I earned it. Demon in Africa, trials, yada yada yada."

Giles shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "Yes well, let's confine ourselves to the topic at hand. Although if you would be interested in writing an account of your experiences that would be a very valuable record. I believe you wanted to ask me something."__

Now it was Spike's turn to look uncomfortable. "About this soul. I'm not sure that it's working properly. When Angelus got his, he turned into the Poof. Brood, sulk, suck on a rat, brood some more. Not that I'm complaining, mind, but shouldn't something like that have happened to me? Instead, I'm – well, I'm still me. I'm not out there saving the world, or helping little old ladies across the road; I don't give to charity, I couldn't give a toss about all the puppies, and if it hadn't been for this sodding chip I swear I'd have bitten one of the customers here the other week. Or punched him, at the least. Stupid bloody git."

Giles chose his words carefully. "Spike, I don't have a lot of experience in the souling of vampires. You are precisely the second, as far as I can tell, and your situation is quite different from Angel's. For starters, if I understand you correctly, you actually went to this demon to get the soul; you sought it out, where Angel's was imposed upon him.

"You may not have realised it, Spike, but getting a soul wouldn't be the shock to you that it was for Angelus. Thanks to the chip, you'd stopped feeding from people, and you had aligned yourself with – well, for want of a better term - the side of right. Yours was a special – I could say unique – set of circumstances." He removed his glasses and polished them carefully, still coming to terms with the situation himself. "Remember the trouble you had when you first got the chip? By the time you earned your soul, you'd already acclimatised, so to speak. You'd fought those battles, already found a place for yourself. Whatever Angel might want us to believe, the soul doesn't change _who_ you are, it changes _what_ you are."

Spike nodded. "But then why do I still have these urges? I thought the soul would stop that."

"Do you want to bite me?" asked Giles. "Or Anya? Or Dawn? Or Willow?"

"Of course not," replied Spike, clearly revolted. "But I haven't wanted that for a long time."

"How about the cashier at the supermarket? Or those people out there?" he continued, gesturing to the street outside.

"No," Spike replied slowly. "Well, just the annoying ones like that tosser in the red hat," he added with a rueful grin.

"So do we all, Spike," Giles replied. At the vampire's astonished look, he clarified, "Oh, we don't generally want to suck their blood, although if I was going to then the –er- tosser would seem an excellent choice. But the urge to do violence is one that we all have to conquer at times. You've associated biting with violence – so, just as at times I want to smack some sense into the Watchers Council, you want to bite people who annoy you. As children, we learn that we can't just hit other children when they take our toys. You learned those lessons once, but then spent over a hundred years as a vampire, taking what you wanted whenever you wanted it. The chip has stopped you from doing those things for the last three years, but now you have an opportunity to learn to control those impulses by yourself."

Spike nodded slowly. "I think I get it now," he said. "Last year, when I thought the chip didn't work, I went straight out and tried to bite someone. Had to talk myself into it, but I would've done it. These days, I wouldn't do that. Not in cold blood, anyway."

Anya's return signalled the end of the conversation. She hurried into the shop with shopping bags flying, blushing when she noticed Giles.

"Had a good day, pet?" asked Spike. "Left anything in the shops for the rest of us?"

"Oh yes," replied Anya earnestly before she realised he was teasing.

"So, you going to show us what you bought," he continued, determined to get some amusement out of the situation, particularly given the number of bags from the Sunnydale Mall's specialty lingerie shop. _Is this one of those impulses I should be learning to control?_ he wondered. _I bloody hope not._

"No," she replied firmly, settling herself across the table from Giles, both of them avoiding eye contact. Spike rolled his eyes. Time to give them a helping hand.

"Listen pet, I can't make it tonight after all. Forgot I'd promised Clem I'd be round."

"Tonight?" Anya looked puzzled.

Spike winked at Anya. "You know," he replied in a meaningful voice. "The video you wanted to watch?"

It took a moment to sink in. "Oh, yes. The video. We were going to watch a video together tonight. But you have to do something with your friend. So I have no plans." She stopped, clearly feeling something more was needed. "Drat." 

After a suitable hesitation, Spike turned to Giles. "I feel bad standing her up like this. You free to keep Anya company tonight?"

"Well – yes, of course," replied Giles "What were you going to watch?"

"Batman Forever," replied Anya, just as Spike replied, "Notting Hill."

Anya gave in first. "Oh that's right. I wanted to watch George Clooney but Spike convinced me that I wanted to see Notting Hill. It's a movie about a sexy English shopkeeper, you know," she added.

"I believe I have heard of it," said Giles. "Shall I see you around six, then?"

***

He had another gift to go with her admittedly melodramatic note that night. A miniature pendant, bearing a tiny moth encased in amber, caught forever in the moment. Odds were, she would go out like that; suddenly, in her prime, never fading or flickering until the last. He'd be there to save her, though, next time.

SLAYER – NEVER FORGET THAT DEATH IS AS CLOSE AS LIFE. 

YOU'RE GETTING CARELESS, AND CARELESSNESS KILLS.

***

Giles jumped at the knock on his door. After placing an urgent order for Spike's books, he'd hurried back to his hotel to shower and change, collecting food and drink on the way.

It was Anya at the door, of course. She was wearing soft blue jeans and a scoop-necked moss green sweater that clung like a second skin. Not that he noticed. Around her wrist was a bracelet of old gold coins. She was carrying the video.

"Anya, come in," he invited, gesturing to the sofa. "What can I get you to drink?" He opened the fridge, revealing bottles of designer beer, coke and orange juice sitting beside chilling champagne and a rather astonishing array of canapés. "That champagne would be lovely," she said, settling back against the corner of the couch. He opened the champagne and brought two glasses to the table, setting out a plate of food before he slid the video into the VCR and settled into the other corner of the couch.

Giles enjoyed the film, but was distracted by Anya, who was curled up on her side of the couch, her bare feet resting gently against his thigh. He gently massaged first one foot then the other, as the film drew to an end. Somehow, it never worked out for him the way it worked out for Hugh Grant in his movies (or in real life for that matter, although that was hardly something to regret). He hardly dared hope that there might still be another chance for him.

Anya shifted slightly as the final credits rolled. He looked over to where she was curled against the arm of the chair, eyes half-closed. She was the picture of relaxation, and in that moment he realised he didn't care about unresolved Xander issues, demonhood or vengeance. He was just happy to be here, now, with this wonderful, unpredictable woman. 

Before he could do anything, Anya opened her eyes and took a deep breath. "I don't know how these things happen in the mortal realm," she burst out. "I don't have a lot of experience – well I have precisely one experience of human courtship rituals, actually. And I know that I'm rushing things but you're physically so much older than I am and I wouldn't want to leave it too late and have to order expensive pharmaceuticals from online stores in order to have a happy and varied sex life." She frowned. Maybe that wasn't the most romantic thing she could have said there. "Giles – Rupert – I like you a lot and I think you like me and when two otherwise single people like each other that way (You are single, aren't you?) then it is not inappropriate or immoral for them to engage in physical intimacy as a precursor to an ongoing relationship. Which I would like very much." 

She broke off, looking at him unsurely. He breathed deeply and ran one hand through his hair, before returning it to hold – or, possibly, to caress – her ankle.

"Anya, I – I'm flattered, obviously by what you have said. And I can't say I haven't felt something; I would very much like to make love with you." He smiled a little shakily, clearly under the influence of strong emotions. "There hasn't been anyone special in my life for some time now, however I think I can safely assure you that there would not be any need for –ah– performance-enhancing drugs." He frowned. "I'm not *that* much older than you are, you know."

He paused, stroking her leg absently, looking directly at her now, clearly not done.

"I just need to know that you're sure. Once we take this step, we can't go back from it. I wouldn't want to be part of something you'll regret later."

Anya looked at him, her eyes shining the way he had imagined them shining at Xander on their wedding day. (He'd not admitted even to himself how he had envied the younger man, making up excuses that kept him in England for their big day. Sending the flowers for the hall had been an overly extravagant gesture that was more an attempt to convince himself he was happy for them than the generous, thoughtful act it had appeared.)

"I'm sure," she said simply, and that was enough, and they were clinging to one another with hands and lips. It was even better than the kisses he had relived in memory so often since leaving Sunnydale.


	9. Sunnydale

**Title:** In giving, we receive   
**Author: **Leadlight   
**Feedback:** Please!   
**Summary: **Post-Season 6. S/B and G/A (yay!). My thoughts on where Spike might go now..   
**Spoilers: **The teensiest bit of (unverified) season 7 spoilage. And lots of speculation. And - I admit it - an overdose of shippy longing.   
**Disclaimer: **Not mine. I'm just borrowing them for a few days.   
**Thanks:** To my wonderful team of betas.   
**Author's Note:** I promised a quicker update this time :-)  With butter and jam for Kimi.

* * *

**CHAPTER 9**

Giles was the first to awaken the next day. The unfamiliar warmth of a body beside his confused him for a moment. Opening his eyes, he saw Anya burrowed under the covers, breathing rhythmically and peacefully. With difficulty, he suppressed the urge to draw her back into his arms and kiss her awake, choosing instead to prop his head on one hand and watch her as she slept. He wondered how she would feel this morning; hoped that he wouldn't see regret in her eyes when she awoke.

She stirred under his gaze, opening her eyes to meet his. He held his breath, waiting for her to lead the way. She smiled languidly, stretching beneath the covers. 

"What's for breakfast?" she asked.

Giles blinked; it was hardly what he had expected to hear. Noting his confusion, she hurried to explain.

"Sex always makes me hungry. We had lots of sex, so this morning I'm very hungry. Can we order breakfast please?" 

"Of course," replied Giles, reaching for the telephone and making mental notes to stock the refrigerator. "What would you like? I generally just have toast with butter and jam, but I can order you -"

"Double helpings of everything," said Anya as she disappeared beneath the covers with a smirk. "I'm about to get a whole lot hungrier."

***

It was afternoon before Anya arrived at the Magic Box. The previous day's shopping was still littered behind the counter, and she seemed more than a little distracted.

"I take it your evening went well, then." Spike leaned on the counter, watching her. He hadn't seen her this happy for a long time; it suited her. _And good on them both,_ he thought. _I'll have to tell Nancy._

She smiled. "Oh, very well. As did this morning. The sex was both frequent and extremely pleasurable, and I'm seeing him again tonight. He has to meet with Willow today, but he should be free by four. That should give us time for further erotic adventures before the Scooby meeting at seven." She frowned. "He's due to return to England in three days. Suddenly, I see a great deal of transcontinental teleporting in my future."

Spike grinned as Anya returned a jar to the shelves behind the counter.

"I definitely didn't need the Makula demon gizzards," she said with a secret smile. "Giles may be older than Xander was, but he's still extremely agile. And did I mention talented?"

She rummaged in the shopping bags, emerging with a white satin bra and matching panties. "What do you think of these?" she asked Spike. "Too virginal?"

_Only Anya,_ thought Spike. _I hope the Watcher doesn't see us like this._

"Probably, pet."

She rummaged through the bags, holding items up and then discarding them onto the counter as she went, finally pulling out a dark green lace bra and camisole.

"How about this?" she asked, holding the camisole against her. "Do the English find green erotic and arousing?"

"Very sexy," agreed Spike. Jokingly, he added, "Going to model it for me?"

A strangled noise from the shop's back door made them both look up guiltily. Buffy stood there in her sweats, clearly on her way to the training room. Anya quickly dropped her lingerie onto the pile of silk and lace on the counter.

Spike was the first to break the silence.

"Buffy. Uh, this isn't what it looks like."

"Really?" she replied. "So you're not back in Sunnydale, and Anya isn't showing you her underwear?"

"Well, yeah," he said. "And yeah. But it's not for my benefit." 

Behind the counter, Anya kicked Spike. "Don't tell her," she muttered out of the side of her mouth.

" It's not as if it matters to me anyway," replied Buffy coldly. "I thought you told me Spike wasn't back in Sunnydale, Anya."

"Technically, I didn't." Anya fiddled with the pile of silk and lace, packing each item away into its bag. "I just told you I could find out if he was."

This conversation was going nowhere fast. Spike moved out from behind the counter, walking towards Buffy, hands by his sides. He stopped about six feet away, trying not to show how much her presence affected him. A flash of amber at her throat showed him she had received his latest note.

He smiled ruefully. "This wasn't how I wanted to tell you I was back, lo- Buffy."

She cocked an eyebrow at him, tapping her foot on the floor, arms crossed defensively over her chest. "I can imagine."

He gestured to the table. "Can we talk?"

She paused for a moment before moving to sit in her usual place. She looked up at him expectantly.

"I've been back in Sunnydale for about a fortnight," he began. "I didn't know how to tell you; didn't know if you'd want to see me after the last time –" he broke off, taking a seat on the opposite side of the table, watching her for signs of the revulsion she must feel. "I can't tell you how many times I've relived that scene, over and over again. Always the same. It's there in my head, every night. I can never make it go away." He leaned forward. "I can't erase what I did, but now I can stop myself from ever doing it again. I'd stake myself before I'd hurt you, Buffy."

She watched him, eyes shuttered, giving nothing away.

"If you want me to leave, I'll go," he continued, unnerved by her silence. "I only came back because of Anya –" he saw the shock in her eyes. "She needed a hand in the Magic Box," he clarified. "I'm working here; it's all on the up and up. I've even got the green card to prove it."

"Why--," she tried again. "Why haven't I seen you before now?"

"I've been keeping a low profile, trying to stay away when you were going to be around. Didn't want to upset you."

She nodded slowly, then frowned. "I was at your crypt last week. Clem didn't –" 

"I asked Clem not to tell anyone I was back," he explained. "Got a new place now. I told him he can keep the crypt."

She smiled at that. "He likes it there. He's taken good care of it for you." 

He relaxed a little. _Maybe this was going to work. Maybe she was alright, as Giles had said._

Catching herself, she frowned slightly. "Does Giles know you're back? How about the others?"

He nodded. "Giles knows. And Dawn saw me here on Saturday." She winced at that, and he hurried to reassure her. "I asked her not to tell you. Said I wanted to do it in my own time. We're not exactly best buddies these days, but she agreed to keep that quiet. I think she'd be happy with anything as long as I stayed away from you." After a moment's pause, he added, "She's doing well, Buffy. You're bringing her up right."

That earned him another smile; this time of shared pride. Then another question: "And the others?"

"Willow knows. Ran into her in London a couple of times. Not Xander, though."

"So I'm not the last, then." Her lips twitched despite herself. "It's probably just as well that Xander doesn't know. He's hardly looking for a beer and video night with his best undead buddy these days."

They fell silent, uncomfortable with the memories.

"I'm okay, Spike," she said suddenly. "What you did to me, that was terrible. But I did some pretty terrible things to you too. We've both got through it, that's the important thing. And I'm okay."

"I'm glad," he replied.

She looked at him searchingly. "And the slightly weird anonymous notes?"

"Just watching your back, Slayer," he replied. "You need to train more. Improve your aim. You're getting sloppy."

Abruptly, he pushed his chair back from the table, then stood and stalked to the counter, where an openly curious Anya had finished packing away her underwear. "I'll be here if you need me, but I'll stay away when you don't. Unless you tell me to leave, anyway."

Buffy nodded slowly, then stood and walked to the training room. As she reached the door, she stopped and turned, looking steadily at him. He had to strain to hear her at all, she spoke so softly.

"I'm glad you came back, Spike."

***

"You're sure they're round here?"

Spike peered at Clem through the gloom.

"Yes," the demon whispered through his teeth. "Those containers over there."

He pointed to a haphazard arrangement of shipping containers in a little-used part of the Docks. Faint light could be seen inside them, and as they moved closer, they began to hear the sound of chanting.

The Grshnit stood in a loosely-formed circle around what appeared to be a large clump of dusty grey jello. They were semi-human in appearance, with thick, stocky bodies and short arms and legs. Their grey flesh appeared slimy, and a single tentacle grew from each one's head. Contrary to the Watchers Council's information, they had no tails, but had small horn-like growths on each shoulder. In dim light and wearing a hat and coat, they could probably pass for human. As he watched, one smiled and opened its mouth – and out shot a smaller, no less gaping maw, that snapped around as the demon whirled and chanted.

Spike tried to jot down the sounds they made, but the chanting was too fast. "Dammit," he muttered.

"What's up?" whispered Clem, spitting small pieces of corn chip and salsa as he spoke.

"I can't quite make out the words," replied Spike. "If I can get them down, I can get Giles to have a look at them. See what they're saying."

"Oh, that's easy," his friend responded. "It's Akkadian. It sounds like the Chant of Rebirth to me, but I'd need to check on it."

The vampire grinned, and clapped Clem on the shoulder. "Knew I'd brought you along for a reason."

***

"'Naked vacuuming' is NOT a form of housework beginning with 'N', Anya."

The demon looked up from the Scattergories game. "Buffy, Giles, back me up here. Tell Dawn I'm right."

Giles ruthlessly suppressed the rather enticing image of a naked vengeance demon with a Hoover.

"She has a point," he said. "It's one way to get the housework done. If Anya really vacuums naked," – he threw her a look that said he'd be investigating the truth of her statement in private – "she deserves to count that answer."__

With no real leads on the demon situation, the Scooby meeting at the Summers' home had quickly turned frivolous. There had been a couple of awkward moments during the game, starting in the second round when everyone was required to supply a girl's name beginning with 'T' - who would have thought there were so many Tillys and Tessas in the world?. Struggling through 'M' hadn't been pleasant either – Willow apparently considered 'macramé' both a hobby and a crime. It beat the alternatives, which no one had been game to say out loud. Even Anya had apparently learned discretion, although Xander had been expecting her to burst out with something inappropriate all night. It was easy for him to remember why he'd loved her when it was this way, without the distraction of her demonhood.

Anya yawned theatrically. "I'm tired," she announced to the room in general. "Despite having had a full and restful night's sleep last night," she added.

Giles looked up casually. "I can give you a lift," he offered. "It's about time I headed back to my hotel."

"Or Xander and I can give you a ride if you like, Anya," said Willow. "We'll be heading home soon anyway. I need to catch up with Sp- someone tomorrow."

Anya stood quickly. "I'll go with Giles," she said. "We have business issues to discuss. Must review those spreadsheets."

"That's right," confirmed Giles. "We have a lot to keep us busy. Mostly housework issues. Spreadsheets and outstanding payments."

"We may even have to pull an all-nighter," the vengeance demon added, as she grabbed her coat and hurried out the door.

"Did I do something wrong?" asked Willow nervously. At the looks of confusion, she clarified, "They just seemed kind of weird. So I wondered if it was me."

"I didn't notice anything," replied Xander. "I'd say you're imagining things there, Magic Free Girl."

* * *

... To be continued ... 


	10. Sunnydale

**Title:** In giving, we receive   
**Author: **Leadlight   
**Feedback:** Please!   
**Summary: **Post-Season 6. S/B and G/A (yay!). My thoughts on where Spike might go now..   
**Spoilers: **The teensiest bit of (unverified) season 7 spoilage. And lots of speculation. And - I admit it - an overdose of shippy longing.   
**Disclaimer: **Not mine. I'm just borrowing them for a few days.   
**Thanks:** To my wonderful team of betas.   
**Author's Note:** Away for a few days - and I don't think the housesitters will publish the next chapter for me..

* * *

**CHAPTER 10**

"I'm doing well," said Willow firmly. Spike suspected the firm tone was as much to convince herself as to reassure him. "Giles and Buffy took me to Tara's grave yesterday. It was awful, but I didn't try to destroy the world or anything, so that has to be good, right?"

The witch sat on Spike's new sofa – his first real guest. Anya as landlady didn't count, he figured. She and Giles had arrived to open the shop together that morning; it was strange to see the Watcher acting like a teenager, all laughter and innuendo. Spike had even caught the pair of them stealing a kiss behind Amulets and Artifacts.

"It sounds pretty good to me, love," he replied. "Means you're coming out of it okay."

"But that's just the point," she burst out. "I don't _want_ to come out of it okay. If I come out of it - if I get better, that means it was nothing. It means I'm forgetting Tara."

He held her gently, letting her cry it out. It was about all he could do for her.

"I know how it feels, love. Last summer – when Buffy was dead – for a while I just wanted the pain to stop. Everything I beat on was an insult to her memory; how dare I continue doing her work, when she was just lying there, cold and dead and underground. But we fought on, keeping the world safe from the nasties. Because it was what she would have wanted us to do, and because it was the _right _thing to do."

He set her back, holding her shoulders and looking directly into her eyes. 

"You have to ask yourself what Tara would have wanted, Willow. Whether she would have wanted you to punish yourself and the rest of the world, or whether she would have wanted you to get on with your life."

Eventually, her tears dried - for now, at least. They sat together in companionable silence while she collected herself. 

"So what's next?" asked Spike. 

She shrugged. "I'm not really sure. The witches in Devon gave me some stuff to do. Practise my focus, and work through my emotions. It's not exactly challenging."

"It's a holiday, love. It's meant to be relaxing, not challenging. Take your time. You're not in any hurry."

She frowned. "It's so frustrating. I feel useless. There was so much I could do, and now I'm just this useless person who sits around, needing her friends to look after her. I can't even do simple locating spells anymore."

Spike shook his head gently. "They don't need you to be useful, Willow. I may not be a Scooby, but I've been around you lot enough to know. They just need you to be their friend, love."

"I'm not even very good at that, anymore. I seem to remember trying to kill them all. Hardly the friendliest kind of behaviour, really."

Spike grinned. "You all forgave Buffy, didn't you?"

She collected herself then offered him a watery smile.

"And here I go again. Sorry to dump on you like this, Spike." She stood, collecting her jacket and moving to the door. "Thanks for listening."

"No problem, pet."

***

Xander leant against a pillar in the Bronze, surveying the crowd. Schoolkids, mostly. A couple of older guys he was keeping a close eye on. They might be harmless, but it couldn't hurt to watch them. Perverts or vampires, it didn't matter that much to him. He fingered the stake in his pocket; he might not be a superhero, but his practice over the past six years was paying off. He could handle himself in a fight – and these days, with nothing to take him home, he was finding himself in a lot more fights than he had before.

"So will the building come down if you move?"

He looked around, smiling to see the young woman standing before him. "Hi Dawny, how's things?"

"Great," she replied. "Or they were, until I noticed that that guy over there doesn't have a pulse. He's been hitting on Kerry all night. I promised Buffy I wouldn't take anything on by myself, but there's not time to get her here. Do you feel up to taking this on together?"

Xander brightened. "Sure. Lead on, McDawn."

They were just in time, as they watched Dawn's friend follow the man out the door.

As they hurried out into the alley, they saw the vampire's face change, heard Kerry's scream. Dawn pulled a stake from her too-large-to-be-truly-stylish purse (it was hard to be a fashion leader when you had to carry weaponry) and ran towards the couple, as Xander kicked the vampire and pulled the hysterical girl to safety.

Fangs at the ready, the vampire whirled to face Dawn. "One little girl is as good as another."

"Oh, this little girl is better than good," she replied as she aimed a powerful kick at his Adam's Apple. "This little girl's had training. It kinda happens when your sister is the Slayer."

The vampire turned to run.

"I don't think so," said Xander, moving out to intercept him. "Ever try picking on someone your own size for a change?"

He saw its eyes darting from side to side, looking for a place to escape, before it exploded into a cloud of dust.

"Not bad, Dawny. You're good."

She wrinkled her nose as she tucked the stake back into her purse. "Vamp Dust must be one of the world's least pleasant nasal experiences."

Xander shrugged. "I'm usually just happy to see the end of them. I'll take dust over vampires, any day."

***

Spike had barely dozed off when he was woken by the snick of the Magic Box's lock. As he pulled on his jeans, he wondered idly whether he could have ignored the disturbance if it hadn't been for the soul. Then wondered whether he was going to spend the rest of his un-life second-guessing himself. Soul or self, self or soul? Resolving to leave the quagmire of metaphysical self-doubt to those who chose to wallow in it, he surrendered to the pragmatic. Quickly grabbing a shirt, he padded quietly upstairs.

The shop area was quiet and undisturbed, but a faint noise from the back room had him reaching for a weapon and stalking to the door.

Buffy whirled as the door opened, relaxing when she saw who stood there. "Spike. Where did you come from?" _And why aren't you dressed?_

He gestured towards the basement. "I live here now. Heard the noise, figured Anyanka'd never forgive me if I didn't at least try to stop whichever nasty was sneaking around up here." He raised a hand and ran it through his hair. "I'll leave you to it then."

"No." It was hard to say which of them was more shocked by her outburst. "Stay. Please?"

He shrugged, and reached to button his shirt. 

Her eyes followed his fingers. There were new marks there, mingled with the ones she had made, and the one he had taken from a Hellgod for her and her sister. "You have scars."

He shrugged, feeling exposed. "Yeah. Some things you just can't heal."

She looked away. "I thought you weren't coming back."

"Thought about it for a while. I had a pretty good set-up in London, but I couldn't leave a friend in need."

_Not the way I did when you needed me_. She brushed the thought away.

"So, are you training then, or did you come in at two in the morning to admire the décor?"

She stared at him for a moment. "Training. You're right, I'm not fighting well at the moment."

He nodded, then offered hesitantly, "I could give you some pointers, if you like."

She smiled. "In person, you mean?"

"Doesn't seem much point writing anonymous letters when you already know who anonymous is."

She blushed slightly, one hand going to her chest where something hung under her sweatshirt.. "I guess. It was kind of nice though. Feeling that someone was looking out for me."

He shrugged. "Not like you don't have that already, Slayer. Giles, Dawn, Xander … They're not exactly chopped liver, are they?"

She grinned at that one, then threw a couple of half-hearted punches at the bag suspended from the roof.

"That's not how you do it," he said, moving towards the bag, careful to leave her space to move away. "You need to get in closer, like this." He demonstrated, standing at least eight inches closer to the bag than she had. "Your punches will lack power if you don't connect until you're fully extended. You want to hit the baddie and follow through, moving him back and out of the way."

***

Anya propped herself up on one elbow, smiling as Giles toyed with her hair.

"So what do we tell them?" he asked quietly.

She trailed one hand idly across his chest. 

"Can't we wait? At least until you come back to Sunnydale to return Willow to the coven? I'm enjoying the extra spice that secrecy gives to our sexual liaisons. And I don't think telling them is going to be particularly enjoyable. Unpleasant encounters should always be postponed for as long as possible."

Giles frowned thoughtfully. "I suppose it couldn't hurt to wait a couple of weeks. But you know that the longer we wait to tell them, the harder it gets."

Anya smiled as her hand slid under the sheets. "I like the sound of that."

***

The yellow crayon twitched, then rose slowly about an inch from the table.

The witch's face was bathed in perspiration.

"I did it," she told herself triumphantly, before she collapsed, unconscious.

* * *

... To be continued ... 


	11. Sunnydale

**Title:** In giving, we receive   
**Author: **Leadlight   
**Feedback:** Please!   
**Summary: **Post-Season 6. S/B and G/A (yay!). My thoughts on where Spike might go now..   
**Spoilers: **The teensiest bit of (unverified) season 7 spoilage. And lots of speculation. And - I admit it - an overdose of shippy longing.   
**Disclaimer: **Not mine. I'm just borrowing them for a few days.   
**Thanks:** To my wonderful team of betas.   
**Author's Note:** I've been away for a few days - but the good news is the next chapters should go up faster!

* * *

**CHAPTER 11**

_Dear Nancy,_

_Well I'm settled into Sunnydale now. Giles's flat is on the poky side, but it's comfy and close to where I need to be. Working for Anyanka is working out pretty well (she sends her best, by the way). It's less quiet than working at the plant, but at least the customers are marginally less likely to be carrying mad cow disease._

_I've seen Buffy and Dawn already. The Bit (that's Dawn) gave me a hard time about some stuff; I hope we'll be able to mend some fences. She's grown up so much since I saw her – all black and high heels, these days. I guess that's sixteen for you._

_Buffy – the Slayer – seems to be doing okay. She's still too tense, of course, but she's getting there, I think. Don't know how she feels about me turning up again though – sometimes I feel like the proverbial bad penny. Haven't seen Xander yet – now there's a reunion I'm not looking forward to! Giles'll let you know if he stakes me, at least._

_Speaking of young Rupert, I have to tell you that you were right. I swear I can hear the birds singing and smell the roses every time he and Anya float in these days. Practically have to dodge the rays of sunshine emanating from the pair of them. They've not told anyone else yet. Can't blame them myself; the Scoobies have never been big on tolerance, particularly where someone of the demon variety is concerned. Figured I should give you a heads-up though, so you have something to tease the Watcher about when he drops by._

_Willow seems to be doing okay back here. Nothing untoward, and she's keeping up the exercises the witches gave her. She's been by Tara's grave once or twice – I think it was touch and go the first time, but she seems to have accepted her death now._

_Nothing much is happening here, although we may have a bit of a demon situation on our hands. I'll keep you posted of how it goes._

_Look after yourself, and give my best to Richard, Sarah and the kiddies._

_Love,_

_Spike._

***

The first of the books Spike had ordered arrived the next morning. Unfortunately, it didn't have a great deal to add to the minimal knowledge he'd gained of the Grshnit demons, although there was a fascinating chapter on less well-known demon varieties. He made a mental note to stop by Kinko's and make a copy for Giles.

The book was from a public library in a small town in north-eastern Oklahoma. Giles seemed surprised by this, but Spike had understood immediately. 

"There's a fairly big demon community out there," he'd explained. "They're very peaceful, and they keep to themselves; try to have as little to do with humans as possible."

He and Dru had been there once, when she'd first started to deteriorate, but they'd not been welcome. They'd found the slow pace and lack of prey rather dull – but these days, Spike wondered whether that community might be a refuge after his work in Sunnydale was done.

***

Buffy entered the Magic Box just after lunchtime, looking around tentatively. Surely that wasn't disappointment she felt at the sight of Anya behind the counter. Of course she hadn't been hoping to see Spike.

"Buffy!" said Anya brightly. "Are you looking for Giles or Spike? Because they're not here."

"No … No!" was the decisive answer.

"Okay," Anya replied. "I wanted to talk to you anyway. Are you and Spike going to resume your illicit sexual liaison?"

Buffy frowned. "How can you ask - have you forgotten what he did to me?"

Anya shook her head. "No, but I thought you might have. I'm still a Justice demon, remember. I don't sense any of those feelings from you, so I know you must have forgiven him." She thought for a moment, then frowned. "Actually, I never had that sort of feeling from you. Why is that? I have a professional need to know."

Buffy paused and thought before answering. "I guess … I did something awful to Spike once. I didn't want to hear him, so I didn't listen. I was so ashamed of being with him, I thought what I did to him didn't matter. That was wrong." She swallowed. "What he did to me; it was terrible. I couldn't believe that Spike would do that. Then I realised, he didn't. Do it, I mean. I had to throw him off to make him hear me, but once he heard me, he stopped. Apologised, even. I threw him out; I needed him to be away from here. Away from me. You see, I didn't stop." She looked directly at Anya, eyes brimming with tears. "I didn't mean for him to go away, though. I needed him; we all needed him. I just needed what was between us to finish."

"Why?"

Buffy looked at her blankly. 

"Why did you need it to stop?" the demon repeated.

"I'm the slayer, Anya. I'm meant to be staking vampires, not putting out for them."

Anya shrugged. "But it's Spike, Buffy. We know him. He's been helping you for nearly three years, and I know for a fact that you haven't paid him a penny for at least eighteen months. He stayed around to help us out even when you were dead and decomposing. So what if he's a vampire? He was our friend."

Buffy stared, then turned and walked out of the shop.

"I guess she has a lot to think about," Anya mused as she turned her attention back to the sales receipts.

***

"Grab its arm, Xander."

"I'm trying, Dawn," he replied. "This would be much easier if it would just … stay … still." The exertions of the fight punctuated his words as he tried to subdue the Rewadh Demon they were fighting.

Dawn had fallen into the habit of patrolling with Xander. Willow accompanied them occasionally, but she had been tired all day and had opted for an early night. Dawn found she preferred her "big brother's" company to patrolling with Buffy; she was less ready to admit that it was the lure of danger that encouraged her to patrol without her sister's help. Of course, if Buffy had known that they were patrolling in the more dangerous parts of Sunnydale rather than the well-lit main streets, she might have been less sanguine about the exercise. Dawn had skipped over that particular piece of information, and it had simply never occurred to Xander to question either of the women as to where they were supposed to be heading.

So far, they'd not encountered anything of the Too Nasty variety, although Xander was starting to wonder whether angry Rewadh Demon was really something he wanted to be facing this evening. "Never fight anything you can't spell" was fast becoming his motto, and he'd suggested to Dawn that it was one she might consider adopting as well.

Finally gaining a grip, he tugged on its arm, attempting to keep it between him and the sword Dawn was wielding. Her extra height helped to compensate for the strength and speed that she hadn't inherited from her sister. The release of the demon's spines, which had been hidden in its arms, caused him to release it with a howl of pain. Dawn fell back in surprise as the demon advanced on her once again.

A howl of anger made him jump, as a black-and-silver blur passed him at superhuman speed. Moments later, Spike stood over the body of the demon, with an extremely pissed teenager glaring at him.

"Spike," Xander croaked, then remembered what had caused the vampire to leave Sunnydale. He reached for the stake that he was never without these days. 

"Spike," said Dawn, glaring at him angrily. The vampire just stood there, with a half-smile on his face.

"What the hell are you doing out so late, Bit? And with only Xander to protect you?" He did a double take. "Is that Buffy's sword you've borrowed?"

Dawn rolled her eyes. "I'm patrolling, Spike. Buffy's been teaching me. And I was doing just fine on my own before you stepped in."

"Yeah? Taking down Rewadh demons isn't exactly a pillow fight, pet."

She looked abashed. "I know. It was pretty tough, but I was beating it."

Spike felt a touch of pride, despite himself. "You were doing pretty well. I liked the move you pulled when you first jumped him, throwing the dagger with your left hand and then following it with the sword."

She grinned, demonstrating the move for him, more slowly now she didn't have a seven-foot demon attacking. "You saw that? I've been practising that move. I figured it would come in handy."

Xander looked from one to the other, confused. 

"Okay, let's just think for a moment Dawn. Evil vampire comes to town, tries to kill your sister, tries to rape your sister, has sex with my fiancée,"

"Ex-fiancée," Spike interjected.

Xander glared at him, then continued, "disappears who knows where, probably to get out the chip that''s the only thing stopping him from murdering us all, turns up out of nowhere and you greet him with _mime_?" He turned to Spike. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't use this stake on you right now."

Spike tried not to smirk. Xander had a point, buried somewhere in that triumph of emotion over logic, but his means of making it was hardly convincing. 

"Well for starters, I just saved your hide and Dawn's as well," he replied. "And I hardly turned up out of nowhere. I've been back for nearly a fortnight now. I'm working at the Magic Box."

"And Buffy wouldn't want you to stake him, Xander," added Dawn. She frowned. "I guess I don't, either."

Spike relaxed a little. He'd not been sure of her.

Xander scowled. He'd got used to having his hide saved by the women his upbringing had taught him he needed to protect; first Buffy, then Dawn, then Willow as her powers emerged, Anya, even Tara. He was okay with that, or resigned to it, at worst, even if he did occasionally wish for his moment in the sun. But being saved by something you loathed – that was different. Especially when, as it turned out, you were the only person who didn't know they were even in town. And they were working for your ex-fiancée, with whom they had already spent more naked time than you wanted to know about.

Spike understood Xander's expression. He'd worn it himself a few times, back before Angelus got his soul. As the leader of their little band, the other vampire had liked nothing better than to destroy William in order to show up his own superiority. Angelus, Darla and Drusilla were a tight-knit group into which he'd never really fitted. It had been a moment similar to this that had led Spike to visit his sister.

_So this is empathy, _he mused.

Flushing with shame, he offered the young man a half smile. "Dunno if it makes you feel any better, but it was Dawn I was saving. I'd've left you to be maimed or eaten."

Xander looked up. It did help a little. "You too," he muttered before he turned to lead Dawn home.

"You're welcome," Spike called after him. Maybe those souvenirs would find a home with Bob the Builder after all.

***

Meanwhile, in a greenish-grey pool in a container on the docks, something began to stir.

* * *

... To be continued ... 


	12. Sunnydale (and something from London)

**Title:** In giving, we receive   
**Author: **Leadlight   
**Feedback:** Please!   
**Summary: **Post-Season 6. S/B and G/A (yay!). My thoughts on where Spike might go now..   
**Spoilers: **Not even a little anymore. And most of the stuff I speculated on was wrong anyway :-) All that is left is - I freely admit - an overdose of shippy longing.   
**Disclaimer: **Not mine. I'm just borrowing them for a few days.   
**Thanks:** To my wonderful team of betas, who deal so well with my paranoia. And to everyone who has sent such nice feedback :-)

* * *

**CHAPTER 12**

Spike looked up from the day's sales figures as he heard the Magic Box's rear door opening. The Slayer was early tonight; he usually tried to be downstairs before she came by to train. Less bother for her that way – and less for him to think about, too.

To his surprise, she came straight over to the counter, where he was working. She wasn't dressed for training, he noticed. She looked wary, almost unsure of herself – not an expression he was used to seeing on the Slayer.

"We – Dawn and I – were wondering if you were doing anything tonight, Spike."

He blinked. "Niblet need a sitter? I'd've thought she was getting a bit old for that now she's out fighting the good fight an' all."

She smiled. "No, nothing like that. We're having a party for Giles. He goes back to England tomorrow, you know."

"So you need someone to take patrol tonight then? I can do that."

She looked at her hands, then back at him. "Actually, we wondered whether you'd like to come to the party."

He froze, then slowly nodded, his mind still churning over the invitation. The last time he'd been in her house, he'd – his mind shied away from the terrible memories. He'd not looked to be included in a Scooby event like this.

She turned and walked to the door. Looking back at him, she smiled briefly, more relaxed now that the invitation had been issued and accepted. "Come at eight o'clock," she added. "Don't be late. Anya's promised to distract Giles with the accounts so we can all surprise him."

Spike stifled a grin. He'd wager the accounts were going to be far from Anya's and Giles's minds this evening – but he couldn't fault the demon's idea of a distraction.

His mind veered away from the meaning of the invitation. They'd invited him because of Giles, he told himself. No reason to get his hopes up now.

***

Spike stood nervously on the porch of the Summers' home and rang the bell. Dawn opened the door, looking very grown up in a dark red skirt and matching top. 

"Hey, Spike," she said, opening the door wide.

He waited.

Dawn frowned. "It may not be cold for a vampire, but those of us with circulation prefer to keep the warm air inside the house."

She was going to make him say it. Just as he opened his mouth, Buffy breezed into the hallway. She wore a lacy white blouse and tight black pants. 

"Spike. Why are you still outside? They could be here any minute."

He rolled his eyes. "That's not enough, Slayer. You have to say the words."

"What do you mean?" she asked, clearly puzzled. _Had she forgotten so soon?_

"The invitation," he clarified. "It has to be explicit."

Buffy's mouth formed an 'O' as she realised what he meant. She reached out a hand towards him, then pulled it back as though she had touched a flame. Spike realised he had done the same, flinching away from her touch. 

"I never disinvited you, Spike."

She opened the door wider, stepping back to allow him to pass. With a sense of wonder and privilege, he entered her home.

Looking at him with eyes more compassionate than he had ever seen them, she explained. "Maybe you weren't always welcome, but I realised – after you left – that I could trust you. That I did trust you, even. There were so many things – so many times when you could have – I knew that you'd never want to hurt me – to hurt any of us. It never occurred to me to get someone to do that spell." She paused, considering. "Not that there really was anyone to do it, anyway. Everything happened so quickly after you left. Suddenly Willow was gone, and Tara was dead. I guess I could have asked Giles or Anya, but Giles was so busy looking after Willow, and Anya – it took me a while to work out how to deal with Anya. You know, now that she's a demon and all."

"Same way as always, Slayer," he replied earnestly. "Just because she's a demon again, doesn't mean she's a different person."

She looked at him steadily. "I'm starting to get that."

"Quick! They're here!" Dawn hurried them both into the darkened living room, where Willow and Xander had already taken up position. A couple of minutes later, they were getting restless.

"I'm sure that was Giles's car," said Dawn, moving towards the window. Spike was faster, protecting his friends' privacy with a quick glance that showed him exactly what was causing the delay. 

"It looks like Anya's worried about locking the ledgers in the boot," he said, hoping that none of the Scoobies would ask why the books had caused the car's windows to fog up. "The prospect of Tax time makes her nervous, even in October."

"Ssssssshhhhhhhhhhhh!" hissed Willow, as she heard the two pairs of footsteps approaching the house. They all fell silent, apart from Buffy and Dawn, who commenced a noisy conversation about Dawn's English homework.

"Surprise!" they all yelled as Giles entered the living room. He took an instinctive step back before pasting a smile onto his face. Spike met his eyes, shaking his head with a hint of a shrug. "Wasn't my idea," he muttered when he got the chance.

The Watcher grinned. "I never thought it was. It's good to see you here, Spike."

 "Makes it easier to keep an eye on things here," Spike agreed.

Giles frowned. "That wasn't precisely what I meant."

Spike nodded once, not trusting his voice. To the Scoobies, an invitation was just that, but to Spike, it signified hope. That he might one day be accepted, even trusted, by them; that, one day, they might call him their friend. Hope that – just maybe – no sin was truly unforgiveable.

***

The party was – well, Spike had seen more interesting parties in morgues. Willow wasn't saying much, preferring to huddle in a large armchair, so he spent most of the evening talking to Anya. She, of course, was trying to avoid Xander, who was single-handedly demolishing the chip'n'dip platter, and pretending that she wasn't watching Giles.

Giles, in turn, chatted easily with Buffy, Xander, Dawn and Willow, and if his eyes followed Anya it was subtle enough that none of them noticed. Dawn made sure that everyone's glasses were kept filled, while Buffy circulated nervously with plates of food, watching Xander and Spike warily, as though she were afraid they might start brawling underneath the "Bon Voyage Giles" poster hanging above the staircase.

Dawn spent most of the evening chatting to Xander; it kept her out of the living room, where Willow was sitting. Occasionally, she smiled at Spike and Anya, but clearly knew better than to take Xander over to join in their conversation. Spike had noticed she was avoiding Willow's company; it wasn't that hard, as the erstwhile witch seemed reluctant to make the first move in starting a conversation with any of her friends.

When it was time for him to go, Spike nodded a farewell to the guest of honour, who was still trying valiantly not to be too obvious in his attentions to Anya. Willow asked if he'd mind walking her home, which suited his purposes nicely. Anya had confessed quietly that the witch still unnerved her; for his part, Spike was pleased with Willow's progress, although he worried that the lesson she'd learnt about magic still wasn't the one Tara had wanted her to understand. He hoped he might be able to encourage her to open up a little. She seemed more solitary than he remembered.

Buffy was in the hallway as they left. She smiled as Spike reached for his jacket. "G'night, Spike. It was … nice … that you came." She reached up and gently kissed his cheek.

Her kiss was benediction, promise and absolution. It awakened repressed yearnings and brought back memories in which he longed to lose himself. It spoke of what had been and what might yet – despite everything that lay between them – come to be. 

It terrified him.

***

"What was that all about?" asked Willow, curious.

"What was what about?" Spike countered, marshalling his thoughts.

Willow rolled her eyes. "Hello? You and Buffy, making with the smoochy faces? Or should I ask Buffy?"

Spike shrugged. "Wish I knew, pet. Ask her if you like, but I doubt she'll tell you anything." He smiled wryly. "If truth be told, I doubt she knows it herself."

Willow's struggle to restrain her smirk at this apt description of her friend was heroic but doomed to early failure. Spike's grin echoed hers, and they shared a look that spoke of their deep affection for Buffy and of their growing rapport with each other.

Spike draped an arm companionably about Willow's shoulders. "You seem to be pretty settled now," he said. "Finding it a bit tougher than you'd expected?"

"I don't know about tougher," Willow replied. "It's all so different now. I'm starting to feel more settle-y, but I still feel like an outsider. It's like they'll never stop waiting for me to mess things up again."

She stopped, seeing the look on Spike's face. "I guess you do know what I mean."

Empathy again. No wonder the living slept so much more than vampires; all these emotions were exhausting. He'd enjoyed the benefits of that in the past, watching Buffy at rest in the aftermath of their loving, on the rare occasions that she had let herself relax that much in his company. Even so, he would have felt better if Willow's regret had extended to what she did, rather than simply its effect on her social life.

At a noise ahead, Spike thrust Willow behind him. Catlike, he moved silently, like the predator he had been. A pair of the slime-covered Grshnit stood, chittering to one another as they surveyed the street. As Spike approached, they turned and lumbered away.

"Aren't you going to follow them?" asked Willow.

"Not tonight," replied Spike. "It looked like they were either getting to know the place or sightseeing. Wish I'd had Clem along tonight, though."

Willow frowned. "I could be helpful. Just because my magic's blocked, doesn't mean I'm no use any more."

Spike suppressed a grin at the thought of the petite Willow going hand-to-hand with a hulking Grshnit demon.

"It's not that, love. Apparently the Big Slimes speak some form of Akkadian. Clem's my translator."

Willow looked a little mollified. "I know – knew – a spell that could make you understand them too. If only I –"

"Clem's plenty," confirmed Spike. "Ten to one they were just trying to work out where to find the bowling alley."

***

Anya surreptitiously wiped her eyes as Buffy entered the Magic Box. She and Giles had said their goodbyes the night before (several times, in fact). After a hearty breakfast, Anya had teleported herself to the Magic Box in time to open up, while Giles had headed for the hotel foyer, where Xander, Buffy and Willow were waiting to take him to the airport.

"Is everything okay?" asked Buffy, eyeing Anya nervously. It seemed even vengeance demons weren't immune to tell-tale pink noses and puffy eyes.

Anya sniffed. "I miss Giles."

Buffy frowned, puzzled. "He'll be back in under two weeks, Anya. It was supposed to be three, but he said something had come up and he needed to be back sooner." She paused. "He said Spike was doing some research for him."

"That's correct," Anya confirmed. "As well as being the Magic Box's inaugural Employee of the Month, Spike's talents extend to research also." She thought for a moment. "And sex, of course, although obviously you know more about that than I do."

Buffy blushed, uncomfortable with the conversation's new direction and distracted from the awkward question of just why Anya missed Giles so.

"How can I help you today?" asked Anya, attempting a return to her usual more perky state.

Buffy shrugged. "Actually, I was looking for Spike. He helped me train the other night, and I wondered whether he might be up for another round or two."

"Can't help you there," replied Anya, gesturing to three book-shaped parcels that sat on the counter, topped by a lavender-coloured envelope. "I haven't seen him. I think he went out early."

Buffy moved surreptitiously closer to the envelope, curious about its contents, but Anya was quicker. "Oh no you don't," she admonished. "That's Spike's, and it's personal."

"How personal?" asked Buffy, and clearly wished she hadn't. "And how would you know anyway? Spike doesn't know anyone except us."

Anya looked a little abashed at the reminder that she had been snooping. "That's what you think," she replied. "Maybe you don't know Spike quite as well as you thought you did."

The basement door swung open.

"Are my ears bleeding, or are you taking my name in vain again, pet?" asked Spike as he entered the Magic Box. He stopped. "Oh. Hello, Buffy."

"Spike. I wondered whether --"

"You've got mail," Anya announced, gesturing to the parcels. Spike glanced briefly at the mailing labels, then saw the envelope. A strange look on his face, he picked it up and turned it over, looking closely at both sides, before he carefully slit one edge of the envelope to reveal three sheets of closely-written notepaper (not that anyone else was looking). He stared at them as if transfixed.

"Is it from Nancy?" asked Anya eagerly, pulling Spike abruptly from his reverie. He nodded, then turned and hurried downstairs, gripping the papers tightly. The two women watched him go.

"Who's Nancy?" asked Buffy with a frown – was that a hint of jealousy in her voice? The demon powers of scorned-woman-sensing said a big yes. Anya smiled to herself – if Spike could be persuaded to stay in Sunnydale (and who better than Buffy to do that?) then she wouldn't lose her friend and employee. She made a mental note to discuss the possibilities with Giles.

"Anya? Are you okay?"

With an effort, Anya pulled herself from the rather delicious fantasy of where on Giles' body she might make non-mental notes – preferably with whipped cream or melted chocolate. 

"I'm fine. And if you want to know about Nancy, you need to ask Spike. Giles and I only met her once, when Spike invited us to join them for dinner."

Buffy's eyes widened, and she mumbled something unintelligible before turning and hurrying from the shop. Anya smiled and returned to her whipped cream.

***

Spike turned on a reading lamp and set Nancy's letter down beside it, before carefully warming a mug – no, the occasion called for a long-stemmed glass – of blood and settling himself on the sofa. He'd had letters before, when he was alive – and even some since then – generally brief notes detailing a rendezvous, and of course Clem's carefully constructed Stories from Sunnydale – but never like this. Never from someone who cared. Never from family.

Cursing himself for an overemotional git, he took a long sip of blood then picked up the letter.

_Dear Uncle Will,_

_I trust that this letter will find you in good health, and settled in Sunnydale. How is your little witch settling in, I wonder. I do hope that her friends are helping her recovery, and not devoting too much of their time and energy to punishing her._

_My life is, naturally, not nearly as exciting as I'm sure yours is. (Do I call it that, by the way? Or should I say 'existence'? 'Your death' seems to me to refer to the moment of mortality, rather than your ongoing existence). I went on an outing to Windsor Castle last week, with my Senior Citizens' group. You would have laughed – the guide told us more and more outrageous ghost stories (horror stories, I suppose – there were several vampires and at least three werewolves), and of course my fellow Snr. Cits. didn't believe a word of any of them. Oh, the stories I could have told them – but I kept mum of course. I don't want to be locked up for losing my mind before my time._

_I had afternoon tea with Richard, Sarah and the children today. They were all asking after you – I imagine you may experience quite a deluge of letters in the next few days!_

Spike paused here, relishing the feeling of belonging and of feeling part of something – a family – again. Nancy reminded him of Joyce, he realised – not physically, but emotionally, in the way she made him feel accepted.

He returned to the letter.

_It seems young Hamish has a new, apparently macabre but in truth rather touching hobby. Every Saturday after football practice, he has his parents drop him at St Margaret's for an hour or so, to take care of your grave. He has even bought seedlings with his pocket money, so it's now a carpet of red and white ("For Man. U., he explained when I asked him)._

_Young Emily told me she heard one of his friends quiz him about it after school one day, and he simply replied, "Don't want him coming back to find it a mess." Of course, the other boy thought he was joking. Richard has promised to send you a photograph._

_I see Rupert is due back any day now. He's promised to let me tag along the next time he goes to the British Museum. I'm quite absurdly excited by the prospect of seeing parts of the Closed Collection. To think that so many things one reads about in novels actually exist and are held there! It quite boggles my mind._

_Take care of yourself, my dear. I look forward to hearing how you are going on. Do give my regards to Rupert when you see him, and of course to dear Anya as well. (I'm an inveterate old matchmaker, I know, but they do make such a lovely couple.) As for the rest of your friends, I leave them to you._

_With love,_

_Your affectionate niece,_

_Nancy Carmichael._

Spike turned the letter over in his hands, smiling to himself. 'Inveterate matchmaker' indeed. His own letter should reach her in a day or so – he hoped it would bring her the sort of pleasure her letter had brought him! He suspected at least one piece of news would make her smile.

Re-folding the letter carefully, he slid it back into its envelope, and sat it on the dresser in his bedroom.

* * *

... To be continued ... 


	13. Sunnydale Bath

**Title:** In giving, we receive   
**Author: **Leadlight   
**Feedback:** Please!!  
**Summary: **Post-Season 6. S/B and G/A (yay!). My thoughts on where Spike might go now..   
**Spoilers: **Not even a little anymore. And most of the stuff I speculated on was wrong anyway :-) All that is left is - I freely admit - an overdose of shippy longing.   
**Disclaimer: **Not mine. I'm just borrowing them for a few days.   
**Thanks:** To my wonderful team of betas, who deal so well with my paranoia. And to Chris, who stepped in at a pinch to beta. And especially to everyone who has sent such nice feedback :-)

* * *

**CHAPTER 13**

"I miss you too."

Buffy looked curiously around the Magic Box. Xander and Willow had dropped her there on their way to see a movie, so she knew Anya couldn't be speaking to Xander, despite her hopes that her two friends might reconcile.

"I'll try to get over this weekend, if Spike can work Saturday. That way, we'll only have been apart for a few days, and if you're coming back on Friday there'll only be another four days to miss you…"

It was wrong to listen in on others' conversations. Wrong with a capital W, even. Buffy knew it, but right then she couldn't have moved if a six-foot cockroach had burst through the wall. Surely, that wasn't – it couldn't be –

"Giles! I'll hold you to that promise," Anya giggled. "I'll make us a reservation at the Holiday Inn. Their suites have Jacuzzis and champagne, and they also have an international Frequent Guest program. So we can earn reward points while we –"

Discretion, Slayer strength and ultra-fast reactions forgotten, Buffy let her bag slip from her fingers. It hit the floor with a dull thud.

Anya looked up from the phone, shocked to see Buffy standing there. She blushed (Buffy hoped it was at the sight of her, rather than at whatever Giles was saying), bit her lip and responded with a muted "You too – looking forward to the weekend" before hanging up the phone and looking defiantly, if a little guiltily, at Buffy.

 "You and … Giles."

Buffy looked at Anya in what might charitably have been called shock. Anya, being more pragmatic than charitable, would have probably have described it as complete and utter disbelief, coupled with a substantial dose of horror.

"We're seeing each other," the vengeance demon confirmed.

"When you say 'seeing each other', you don't just mean with your eyes, do you?" Buffy asked.

"Not _just_ with our eyes," Anya clarified. "With our hands and lips as well. Giles knows this game with a blindfold, where –"

Buffy clapped her hands to her ears. "Don't tell me!"

Anya frowned, looking a little hurt. "I told Giles you wouldn't take it well."

"No, no," Buffy hurried to reassure her, despite being unsure how she really felt about it all. "It's not that. I'm happy for you both. It's just that Giles is kind of like a father to me, and parents just don't have sex. Especially with my friends. It's beyond the ick factor and into gaaaaaaaaah territory."

Anya smiled with relief. "I understand now. Although, I have to assure you that it's not unpleasant at all. Quite the opposite, in fact."

She smirked, and Buffy felt a pang of envy. Not that she felt that way about Giles, of course (again with the gaaaaaaah, although she remembered that Spike had once mockingly leapt to that conclusion), but for the look of satisfaction and contentment on Anya's face. She'd felt like that once, for a few minutes, lying under a rug on the stone floor of a dead man's crypt. Physically sated, relaxed and replete. The only time she felt like that these days was after a good fight, when she would return home and curl up in bed, her only companion a leather duster that had seen better days.

"That's great, Anya," she forced herself to say. "That you're happy, I mean. And Giles too." She paused, considering her words, surprised that she really did wish the unlikely couple well. She bit her lip, considering her next question, then asked it anyway. "Does Xander know?"

"Not yet," said Anya. "Giles wants us to tell everyone together. He'll be back shortly, but I'm strangely glad you improperly eavesdropped on our private conversation today." She fiddled with a pile of bills before looking up. "I hate keeping secrets," she confided.

"How – how long has this been going on?" asked Buffy, not sure she wanted to know the answer. She stooped to pick up her bag – and to hide the confusion on her face.

"One week, one day and eighteen hours," Anya replied promptly. "Although the attraction has been building for some time. Spike and Nancy both noticed it."

"But – you're a vengeance demon again," Buffy said slowly, pushing the mention of the mysterious Nancy aside for a moment.

"So?" said Anya, "There's nothing in the rule book that says we're not allowed to experience physical pleasure with mortals."

"… and Giles is a Watcher," Buffy continued from beneath a mental pile of Supermodel-esque Nancies with long golden hair and pneumatic breasts. "He's not supposed to –"

"This isn't about me and Giles at all, is it?" Anya realised suddenly. "It's about you and Spike. The two of you may not have been able to solve that moral quandrary, but Giles and I will find a way." She paused, then added more simply, "I love him, Buffy. When he's not here, it's like all the shrimp are gone from the world. With Xander, I always had to change, to be someone I wasn't. But Giles loves me, and he respects me too." She grinned. "Plus, he's handsome, strong, and he has that sexy British accent."

The description didn't only match Giles. "I have to go," said Buffy and hurried out of the shop, wiping away the tears that clouded her sight. Was Anya right? Had she really thrown away the joys of shrimp through blind prejudice and fear? And if she had, might there still be a chance to reclaim them?

***

"Hey, Dawny. Is Buffy home?"

"She had to go out," Dawn replied.

Willow's face fell. "Oh. Do you know when she'll be back?"

"She didn't say," was the terse reply. "I'll tell her you came by."

Willow turned to leave as Dawn started to close the front door, but turned back before it latched. "Dawny, can we talk?"

The younger woman shrugged. "I guess." Reluctantly, she opened the door and led Willow into the living room, where she perched on the edge of a chair, looking for all the world like a frightened fawn ready to bolt at any moment.

"We haven't really had a chance to talk since I got back."

Dawn shrugged again. "I've been busy with school. You guys are always telling me how important my education is."

Willow tilted her head in acknowledgement. "So you haven't been all avoidy with me?"

Dawn looked away. It was an answer in itself, and Willow's face reflected her hurt at this rejection.

"Dawny, I'm sorry. Those things I said and did – I wasn't myself. The magic –"

Dawn stood abruptly. "See, that's where you're wrong, Willow. That was you doing that stuff. All of it. You weren't possessed by anything. It was _you_ who said those things. You may wish you could take them back, but you can't. It's not that easy."

She turned and walked to the stairs. "You can let yourself out."

***

"Slayer's late tonight," Spike thought, as he heard the Magic Box door close quietly. To his surprise, the footsteps didn't cross to the training room as usual, but came down the steps into the basement. _Guess she wants some more training tips,_ he figured, waiting for his door to open. Instead, she knocked, almost hesitantly. He looked up, confused.

"Come in," he called, and she entered, looking around curiously.

"Nice place," she offered.

He nodded, gesturing to the sofa opposite the one where he sat. "Bit posher than the crypt." She smiled in agreement.

The moment stretched into an awkward silence.

"D'you fancy a drink? I've got tea, coffee, coke – even that mineral water you like."

"That'd be nice. Thanks," she replied, studying her fingernails.

He put her glass on a coaster on the coffee table, then sat back on the sofa.

"So what can I -"

"Have you found out -" They spoke at once, neither comfortable with the silence.

"Ladies first," he said.

He'd said that to her before, of course, and she blushed. Was she, like Spike, remembering the last time they had made love, on a temporary bed made up on the coffin of some long-dead man or woman who would never again know the heat that two bodies could generate, even when one was, strictly speaking, dead? He'd insisted that ladies went first then – technically twice, if he remembered correctly, although her second had also been a third and fourth rolled in together.

"I just wondered whether you had any more information on our demon situation," she said. "I saw that some books arrived yesterday."

The books! He'd been so caught up with his letter, he'd not even opened the parcels. "To tell the truth, Buffy, I've not got to them yet."

She sat very still. "That's right. Anya said you had a letter from –um- Nellie?"

She'd never been a good liar. There was the way her eyes darted to one side and her nostrils flared slightly, giving her a slightly panicked look.

"That's Nancy," he corrected, wondering where this was going. Anya had told him about their conversation, and he felt a flash of hope.

"Is she someone you met in England?" Buffy asked. Spike nodded.

"She must be pretty special if you took Giles and Anya to meet her."

Spike smiled. "She is."

Buffy stared vacantly into her glass. 

Taking pity on her, he explained, "She's my great-niece. I looked her up to make sure she was all right, and we hit it off. She even took me to meet the rest of the family."

Relief washed over Buffy's face. "What did you tell her? That you were some long-lost relative?"

He grinned. "At first, I did. Turned out, though that she had already guessed who I was. She's a canny old bird; she knew all about me. I told her I'd put her over my knee if she ever did anything as stupid as inviting a vampire into her house again."

Buffy's face froze. "But the chip—"

Typical Bloody Slayer.

Couldn't take her mind off the Evil Vampire for a second. Not even to realise they were almost having a friendly conversation, for once. Love-sick fool, that's what he was.

"It's a figure of speech," he bit out. "We both knew I'd never do it. She needed to know how serious it was."

"I'm sorry," she offered. "I just had to -"

"See, that's where you're wrong, Buffy," he snapped. "Do you think Anya'd have me here if she thought I'd eat her customers? Or Giles, if I posed any sort of danger to you and your Scooby mates? Christ, is a little respect such a huge thing to ask?" 

He ran his hand through his hair in frustration. "You can't make a habit of this. You sought me out once before when you were miserable, but I can't go through that again. I love you, Buffy. I can't do anything about that, and I don't know that I'd want to. I said once that I knew you'd never love me. It wasn't true then, but it's true now. What I did – what I tried to do to you – you were right. I was a monster; I was everything you said. Doing that made me realise what I had to do to be worthy of you – and once I'd done that, I realised I never could be." He paused, waiting several beats before continuing. "Anyway, that's not what I was trying to say. Either stay, and let me be your friend, or stop coming to me."

Buffy stared at him, tears in her eyes. "I'm sorry, Spike. I really am. I shouldn't have – I didn't –" She stood, twisting her hands nervously. "I'll go."

He shrugged. Rude, he knew. "If you like. You can let yourself out."

She left, holding herself carefully erect. Spike frowned as he listened to her footsteps recede. Perhaps he had been wrong to force the issue so soon, but it was as much in self-defence as anything else. He didn't know if he could take any more of the Slayer's kind of friendship.

***

Giles was just heading for the shower when the telephone rang. 

"Infernal machine," he muttered as he hurried to answer it. "If I wanted to talk to people at this hour, I'd be working in a blasted cafeteria."

"Hello?" he snapped.

"Giles? Did I get my timezones muddled and it's really five a.m., or are you always this grouchy in the morning?"

"Buffy! Is anything wrong?" _Is Anya all right?_

"Not wrong exactly. I just needed to talk to you."

"At eight in the morning," he sighed, pulling a chair over to the breakfast table. "Is it Willow? Has Spike found anything more out about the demons?"

"No – well, I don't know. I'll sort Spike out for myself." She laughed wryly. "I can do that now. And Willow's fine."

"I'm glad to hear it," Giles replied. "So what do you need to discuss?"

"Anya told me about the two of you."

There was silence on the British end of the line, then "Oh. We were going to wait."

"I know. It's okay, Giles. She wanted to talk to someone. Keeping secrets like that – it can destroy you."

"Is something wrong?" he asked in concern. "We both felt we should wait until I was back in Sunnydale before we said anything."

"No, it's nothing like that. It's just – I guess she figured I'd understand. You know, with the whole secret relationship thing." There was a pause. "I do understand. Well, kind of. But _Anya_?"

Giles sighed. His proposal for a seminar series on "Understanding Adolescent Psychology" to the Watchers' Council as a mandatory qualification for any future Watchers was not much help to him when he needed it. Not that Buffy was an adolescent anymore, but he scarcely felt equipped to deal with her moral dilemmas.

"Buffy, my private life is just that. I've never interfered in your relationships, and I'd hate to think you were going to do that to mine."

Buffy gasped. "You're the second person today to tell me to butt out. I'm just trying to understand. You're a Watcher, and she's a Vengeance Demon. Isn't that, like, illegal or something? For both of you?"

So it _was_ about Spike. He couldn't say he was surprised, or even (and this did surprise him) displeased. The vampire had proven himself a good friend – and a staunch ally as well. Giles chose his words carefully.

"A relationship isn't a contract to always agree, Buffy – or even necessarily to be on the same side, although that does help. It's about being better people together than you are when you're apart, and caring enough to work through your differences, loving one another despite them."

There was silence.

"And that's how you feel about Anya."

It wasn't a question, but he confirmed the answer anyway. "It is. She makes me feel – vital. That I could do anything I chose. She's a wonderful woman, Buffy."

"Thanks," said Buffy in a small voice. "You've helped me sort some stuff out for myself, Giles. And I _am_ happy for you and Anya."

This time, he almost believed her.

"I'm glad I could help," he replied. "Do you think you could possibly time these crises for later in the day in future?"

***

Willow stared at the dried herb she'd found tucked inside an old journal.

Lethe's Bramble.

This time, she'd be careful. If she could only get her powers back, it would be different.

Dawn was wrong. Some things could be undone, if only you had the magic to do it.

* * *

... To be continued ... 


	14. Sunnydale Bath

**Title:** In giving, we receive   
**Author: **Leadlight   
**Feedback:** Please!   
**Summary: **Post-Season 6. S/B and G/A (yay!). My thoughts on where Spike might go now..   
**Spoilers: **Not even a little anymore. And most of the stuff I speculated on was wrong anyway :-) All that is left is - I freely admit - an overdose of shippy longing.   
**Disclaimer: **Not mine. I'm just borrowing them for a few days.   
**Thanks:** To my wonderful team of betas, who deal so well with my paranoia. And especially to everyone who has sent such nice feedback :-)  
**Author's Note:** Sorry this chapter took so long. My betas were - well, _divided_ is probably the best term - on their feelings about it.

* * *

**CHAPTER 14**

Buffy knocked hesitantly on Spike's door, the bag of spicy wings under her arm a peace offering of sorts. Anya had left for Bath that morning, and Spike had been too busy in the shop all day for her to talk to him. She wasn't sure what she was going to say, but she knew this was her chance to get it right.

He opened the door and ushered her inside, pausing to grab a plate before settling himself on the sofa opposite her. He watched her closely, almost warily, not making what she had come to say any easier.

"Xander and Willow are with Dawn," she began hesitantly. "I told them I was coming to see you."

"Xander would have loved that," he observed drily.

She shrugged. "What he thinks about you doesn't matter to me, Spike. I wish his attitude were different, but I'm done living my life for my friends. He asked why I was coming to see you. I told him it was personal." She bit her lip. Despite her bravado, her friend's disapproval still hurt her.

Spike's blue gaze fixed on her as she continued, "I was up all night thinking of what I needed to say to you, and I still don't know. What I told you that day in the Magic Box – that I'm okay with what happened between us – that's true, but it's only half the story. I need to know that you're okay as well, Spike. I beat you down, and I used you when I couldn't face up to the way I felt. I lied to my friends about us, and I lied to myself that what I was doing was right. Even worse, I lied to you." She paused, wiping her brimming eyes, then met his gaze squarely with her own. "I wrote to Giles, asking him to pass on my apology to you if he saw you. I don't know whether it reached you, but I need to tell you – to ask you if you think we can get past that."

Spike nodded slowly. "Still not sure where you're headed, love."

He hadn't called her love since – well, for a long time. It felt good. She had missed it.

"Then that makes two of us," she said with a wry smile. "But you said last night that if I wanted to see you, I'd have to be your friend."

She paused, blushing. This was the hard bit. "And if anything else is there," she added, "at least it will have a good place to start."

Spike smiled a lean, wolfish smile that made her body sing in places that lacked vocal cords. "Friends, then." He bit neatly into a wing. "Especially if you keep bringing munchies with you."

She grinned, and he watched her, waiting for her next move. She relaxed – as much as you could when your body was singing, anyway. It was going to be all right.

"Fancy a quick tussle?" she asked with an innocent look.

He looked startled. _See? Two can play at double entendres, Spike._ "Training," she clarified.

***

Giles rolled over, sleepily reaching for Anya. To his surprise, his arm met nothing but cold pillow.

A mist in the corner coalesced, revealing the subject of his thoughts, fully dressed and with no vacuum cleaner in sight.

"Where have you been?" he murmured sleepily as she walked towards their bed. He'd startled himself, earlier, with the realisation that – to him - this was now _their_ bed, _their_ room, although this was the first night she had spent there. Her clothes nestled beside his in the wardrobe; her shoes were tucked under the bed – or would be again soon, he hoped. At the moment, they were adorning her feet.

"Call of vengeance," she replied. "This woman's husband is cheating on her by having frequent sex with his secretary. She wanted them both cursed, although I don't normally do women. In the end, I gave the man a form of dyslexia affecting numbers. As long as he thinks that monogamy means being mostly faithful to two women, he will continue to be unable to understand numbers. That will be problematic, as he's the financial director of a large multinational corporation. Once he makes up his mind, even if he chooses to be with the secretary, his brain will return to normal."

There was silence.

"You don't approve, do you?"

He sat up and reached for his glasses. Clearly this was not a conversation that would be resolved in a hurry. "It's not a matter of approving or not, darling," he replied. "It's not up to me. It's who you are, and what you do. It would be the height of arrogance and hypocrisy for me to complain about it at this stage."

She frowned, pushing on. "But you don't approve."

He reached for her, kissing her gently. "Anya. I want to be with you. I l- I care about you very much. All of you. It's true that I'm not entirely reconciled to your career choice, but I _am_ aware that that is my problem and not yours."

"I understand that," she said. "What I don't understand is why it bothers you. With Xander, it was always because I was a demon, but that's not it for you … is it?"

"That man tonight," Giles began. "How many people were depending on him for their jobs? How will your curse affect them? The consequences ripple out from the original spell." He frowned. "It's vigilante justice, Anya. However pure your motives may be these days, I firmly believe that there are better ways to deal with these situations."

Anya sighed. "I suppose you want me to leave now."

"No!" said Giles hurriedly. "Not at all. I wasn't trying to distress you. If you were murdering people, then it would be quite clear-cut; I would have to try and stop you, and entering into – or continuing in – a relationship would be morally wrong." He rubbed his eyes wearily. "And the same goes for many other punishments that you might exact. But I know you're trying, and you're in a grey area here. I won't help you, but I don't have to put obstacles in your way. An intellectual debate – even on something as important as this – isn't something I'm inclined to take personally."

"That's quite all right," she said with relief, toeing off her shoes and curling up beside him. "I do understand. I would be extremely disconcerted if you sent your Slayer after Halfrek, or D'Hoffryn. But hunting demons is what you do, so there is a distinct possibility that you might at some time. When you do, it will be my turn to make unpleasant moral choices."

Giles looked uncomfortable. "Precisely," he said.

***

Buffy scowled. "This is ridiculous," she snapped.

Spike looked up at her from where he lay sprawled on the training mats for the seventh time in as many minutes. She reached out and grasped his hand, helping him to his feet before he moved away.

"Touch my shoulder," she demanded.

Puzzled, he reached out and tapped her lightly on the shoulder.

"That's not what I meant," she said with a frown.

Taking his hand, she pressed it firmly to her shoulder. Holding it there, she reached her other hand out to his shoulder, kneading gently, feeling the firm, tight muscles and tendons that lay beneath his skin. Emboldened, he began to massage her shoulder and nape, continuing even when she removed the hand restraining his and moved it to his hip. The heat of her body burned into his as she stepped closer.

"We can't train together if you're afraid to touch me," she explained. "You won't hurt me, Spike. I know you, and I trust you." She hoped she didn't sound as breathless as she felt, and that he missed her sigh when he reached his other hand out to hold her hip, echoing her own pose.

Slowly, she dragged her hand from his shoulder across his chest, resting it above his heart. He started to follow suit, then hesitated, and she brought her hand up to capture his and move it, pausing at the small lump that sat over her collarbone.

She moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue. "It's the amber pendant," she said. "I always wear it."

He swallowed as she moved his hand lower, gliding over the swell of her breasts to rest above her heart. She smiled at him, serene and confident now. "It's okay to touch me, Spike. I won't break."

He grinned then, hooking one foot behind her knees and pushing her down onto the training mats. She retaliated immediately, lashing out with a foot to knock him to the ground, crouching and leaping at him.

Her breast brushed his hand, but neither noticed, as caught up as they were in their dance. They rolled on the floor, vying for supremacy, until he captured her legs between his and rolled to kneel above her, trapping her beneath him.

His shocked face showed Buffy just when he realised that their pose reflected their encounter in the bathroom. He was caught in that moment, frozen in horror. She reached out to him, wanting to hold and soothe him, and erase the look of revulsion from his eyes. One hand gently stroked his cheek and he relaxed, almost ready to meet her smile. That terrible day no longer lay between them; forgiveness – absolution, even – had been granted. They lay like that for a moment, then she bucked beneath him, laughing and flipping him off, so that they lay collapsed beside one another on the mats, panting. Not quite touching.

Now _that_ was how training should be.

***

Clem arrived at the Magic Box right a few minutes before closing time.

"I brought ice cream," he announced, showing Spike the enormous bag filled with take-home containers of Ben & Jerry's.

"I couldn't decide what flavour to buy," he explained, "so I got seven. I hope you have a big freezer. I'd hate for all this to melt before we've finished the video."

He held up his battered copy of _The Wedding Singer_. Clem freely admitted to being a sucker for wedding movies. _It could have been worse,_ Spike figured. _He could have brought his Father of the Bride collection._

Spike smiled at his friend. "You head on down. I'll be right with you."

When he'd locked the doors and tallied the day's takings, he went down the stairs to his apartment. Clem leapt up from the sofa as he entered the room.

"I put the ice cream in the freezer. I wasn't sure where you kept your bowls, and I didn't want it to get all melty before you were ready."

Spike opened a cupboard and took out two bowls and spoons, while Clem lined the pint containers up in a row on the counter.

"It's all Kosher," the demon assured him. "I didn't get any coffee flavours though. I hope that's OK – the caffeine does terrible things to my digestion." His stomach rumbled as if to prove what he had said.

Spike smiled, then watched in amazement as his friend filled his bowl with an assortment of the strangest flavours of ice cream he had seen. Clem looked up. 

"Sorry. I guess I should explain what I bought," he said. "This one is brown sugar ice cream with cinnamon streusel, apples and caramel. This is vanilla with chocolate chip cookie dough rippled through it." He went on, describing each flavour. Spike was relieved to see that the last flavour was a plain chocolate. He took a scoop of that, as well as a little of another flavour that apparently consisted of chocolate ice cream, with caramel and marshmallow, with little chocolate fish floating in it.

The video was clearly a favourite of Clem's. Spike didn't mind the movie, and enjoyed watching his friend sing along; he had confessed to being a great eighties music fan. Spike didn't see the appeal himself.

After the movie, Clem helped himself to another bowlful of ice cream.

"Any news of our slimy visitors?" Spike asked.

"They're up to something," Clem replied. "They don't seem to be doing anything yet, though. Just watching."

"Watched me walking Willow home a few nights back," Spike confirmed. "They ran away as soon as we got close, though."

"That seems to be what they always do," Clem continued. "I caught a bit of a conversation last night, though. They were talking about their Queen arriving – and they said something about the Strongest One being ready." He shrugged. "Or it could have been the Cucumbers of Wrath. My Akkadian's a bit rusty – and I'm not familiar with their dialect."

There was a knock on the door. Spike crossed the room to open it, revealing a Slayer dressed for patrol. She smiled.

"Hey, Spike. I wondered if you'd like to pa-" her face fell at the sight of Clem. She forced a smile.

"Hi, Clem."

"Oh. Hi, Buffy. How are you? Do you want some ice cream? We have lots."

She looked almost shyly at Spike, who stepped back, inviting her to come inside and join them. "We could do with some help eating this stuff," he said quietly, with a grin that invited her to share his amusement at his friend's habits. He was glad of Clem's company for another reason then. After the emotional upheaval of the previous night's training session, he'd not been sure what his next encounter with Buffy would be. Of all his guesses, though, eating ice cream had not featured.

"Uh … okay. Sure," she said, staring at the familiar Ben and Jerry's cartons.

Spike found another bowl and spoon (for a bloke who got no visitors, he was doing well tonight, he mused), while she surveyed the flavours.

"Wow! You got Chubby Hubby! And New York Super Fudge Chunk!" She took a bite, eyes rolling up in mock ecstasy. "You guys are the best!"

Clem looked curiously at Spike, who shrugged. Let the demon wonder – after all, he was wondering himself. He cleared his throat. "Clem was just filling me in on our slimy demon buddies down at the docks."

"Great," said Buffy around a spoonful of ice cream. "Do we have any new leads?"

"Not really," said Spike. "There's still one more batch of books to come. That last lot wasn't much help, although it did refer to some kind of ceremony that happens every 75 years or so. The last one recorded was in 1852, which suggests that that might be what we're facing. I'm hoping that Peterson's _Demonic Ceremonies, Rites and Rituals_ will have the answers we're after."

Buffy nodded, already at the counter for seconds. She turned to Clem. "Is this the strawberry fudgey one?" The demon nodded. She filled her bowl again, then returned to her position next to Spike on the sofa. "Wow – this is great! Here, try some." She held out a spoonful of what looked like strawberries, cookies, fudge and ice cream, which Spike dutifully tasted. It tasted great – but not as great as the fact that the Slayer was here, spending time with him and his friend, even sharing her food with him.

***

Willow looked around. The park was deserted tonight – making it an excellent venue for what she had in mind. She took a dried twig and laid it on the grass, then stepped back, concentrating.

"Incendiare!" she said, then recoiled in surprise as the heat nearly overwhelmed her. After a moment, she ran to the street, stopping to wonder whether she should call the fire department or just run home and hide under the bedclothes, waiting for the nightmare to end. At the sound of approaching sirens, she chose the latter option and hurried away, hoping that the citizens of Sunnydale would blame their now-charcoal sports pavilion on a random arsonist, rather than on a witch whose slowly returning magic was – apparently – quite out of control.

* * *

... To be continued ... 


	15. Sunnydale Bath

**Title:** In giving, we receive   
**Author: **Leadlight   
**Feedback:** Please!   
**Summary: **Post-Season 6. S/B and G/A (yay!). My thoughts on where Spike might go now..   
**Spoilers: **Not even a little anymore. And most of the stuff I speculated on was wrong anyway :-) All that is left is - I freely admit - an overdose of shippy longing.   
**Disclaimer: **Not mine. I'm just borrowing them for a few days.   
**Thanks:** To my wonderful team of betas, who deal so well with my paranoia. And especially to everyone who has sent such nice feedback :-) 

* * *

CHAPTER 15

"Hey, Xander!" Dawn greeted him at the door. "Big day? I'm guessing you're not going to feel like getting demon goo on that shirt."

Xander looked down at his carefully pressed shirt and chinos. "I can't make patrol tonight, Dawn. I've got a date."

Dawn grinned. "That's great! Who with?"

"She's one of the secretaries at the high school," Xander explained. "I got to know her while we were finishing off the classrooms. Anyway, I sort of ran into her yesterday, and I'm taking her out for dinner tonight."

"But I thought you and Anya –"

Buffy dumped the dinner plates on the table with a crash and hurried in. Her intervention wasn't needed, however, as Xander was already shaking his head.

"She's made it pretty clear she doesn't want me. Besides, demon and human? BAD idea."

Buffy opened her mouth to disagree, then thought better of it. The last thing she should be doing was letting Xander think he might have another chance with Anya. _Or talking about Spike with Xander_, a voice inside her head prompted.

"So which one is it?" Dawn asked with a grin. "It can't be the redhead, because I heard she's having a thing with Coach Sutherland. Marcy saw them getting hot and heavy in the gym one day last week."

"Her name's Erin," Xander replied. "She sits by the window. I got talking to her after someone broke it, and she asked if we could fix it. There was glass all over her desk."

"I know her! The one with the brown hair, right? She seems really nice!" Dawn enthused. "But isn't she kinda … well, short?"

"Hey!" said Buffy from the doorway, "Watch the heightism, Dawn. I'm still your guardian, you know." The sisters shared a smile. They'd not expected to both be as happy with that situation as they were now.

 "She's not that short," said Xander absently, looking anxiously at his watch. "I have to go."

As the door closed behind him, Dawn turned to her sister. "So can I patrol with you tonight?"

"Homework," was the pointed reply.

Dawn smiled. "All done. And I got a B on my history test."

Buffy tried to look stern. "That should have been –" then gave up, not feeling like playing the hypocrite right now. She had hardly been the sort of model student that could complain about a B. She smiled. "Sure you can come on patrol. Spike's coming too. In fact, I asked him to dinner as well."

Dawn's eyes narrowed with interest as she looked at her sister.

"What?" asked Buffy defensively.

"Just checking for the antennae that prove that you're really Evil Robot Buffy," Dawn replied. "What's going on? You're all 'I'm going to Spike's now' and 'Wanna see if Spike can come to our party?' After what he did, even if you've forgiven him, isn't that kinda weird?"

Buffy sighed and sat down on the stairs. "Nothing's going on with me and Spike. We've decided to be friends, that's all." She remembered her vow to be more open with Dawn and added, in a small voice, "So far, at least."

The casual observer would not have recognised Dawn's usually pretty face at that moment. Her eyes bugged, her jaw dropped, and she actually squealed in excitement. "Tell me," she demanded, grabbing a chair and dragging it to the hall, so as not to let her sister escape.

Buffy sighed. "First, you have to understand that Spike never realised what he was doing that day. Not at the time – though he did afterwards, and beat himself up about it. All the time we were together, I denied that we had a relationship. I wouldn't let him tell anyone about us. I'd be kissing him and saying no all at the same time, telling him it wasn't real, that it didn't matter. That he didn't matter.

"I went to see him a few days ago, and I kind of did something similar. I didn't mean it that way – I don't know _how_ I meant it – but he overreacted, and told me to get out." She looked at her sister, biting her lip. "I didn't mean to do that, Dawny. It just slipped out." Tears flooded her eyes as she continued. "Later, when I was talking to Giles about A- something else, I realised I don't just want to be his friend."

Dawn frowned. "You and Giles? Buffy, that's just sick."

Buffy smiled wanly, wishing she had a pillow to throw at her sister. "Spike, dummy." Dawn clutched her chest in mock relief. "We had a talk, and we've decided to be friends." She picked at one thumbnail with great concentration. "When he came back, he told me he still loved me. After what he said, though, I don't think he does anymore." She brushed at her tears.

Dawn leapt up, took her hand, and hurried her up the stairs.

"Why are we going up here?" asked Buffy, puzzled.

"We're getting you changed," replied her sister, surveying her jeans (designer) and sweatshirt (different designer) in disgust. "And since Sexy Patrolling Clothes-R-Us isn't an option, it's Raid-Buffy's-Wardrobe-Time."

***

"I just feel like things are out of control," said Willow, munching on a pretzel.

 "What kinds of things, love?" asked Spike sympathetically.

"Oh, everything," she replied. "Dawn's still not speaking to me, Anya won't trust me near the Magic Box. Xander's busy with work all day, and we can't hang out every night. I've been out on patrol with Buffy once or twice, but without my magic I'm just a liability to her. I mean, I can carry her weapons bag and scream when I see something coming, but that's about it. And watching her fight – it just reminds me that she had to fight _me_ that way."

She frowned, then continued, "Back in Devon, the witches in the coven were big on self-control. But that's not the problem."

Spike cocked an enquiring eyebrow at her.

"It's powerlessness," she explained. "I can't do anything to change what I did, but without my magic I can't move forward either. I just go where I'm put. It's like I'm trapped on a rollercoaster. I can't be in control of my life until I get it back."

He smiled gently. "This was meant to be a holiday, love, not a magical panacea. D'you feel like it was worth coming back, then?"

"Oh yes," she replied hurriedly. "I've said goodbye to Tara properly now." She wiped away an errant tear. "It still hurts, but it's less raw than it was before. I don't cry myself to sleep every night, and I don't wake up knowing there's something wrong, something missing. I just … I just wish things were different."

Spike patted her shoulder reassuringly. "You're far from the first person to wish that, love. Things'll start looking up soon."

She looked at him, tugging anxiously on a lock of hair beside her face. "Spike?"

"Mmmmm?" he mumbled through a mouthful of pretzels

"If a person – if a person does something bad – by accident – do you think they should be forgiven?"

He smiled openly at her then. "Vampire, here. Ex-scourge of Europe. I killed hundreds – probably thousands of people. Do I feel bad about it? Sure – but do I let remorse run my life? Course not. I _have _to believe in forgiveness, pet, or there'd be no point."

She stared into her mug of coffee, thinking this through. Could it really be as simple as that?

***

Dawn grinned at the sight of Spike standing at the front door. 

"Come in, Spike."

"Thanks, Niblet. Didn't know you'd be here or I'd have brought some flowers for you, too."

Dawn smiled. "'Sokay. Buffy's in the kitchen. Come through if you like."

Inside the kitchen, he stood nervously for a moment before handing the flowers to the Slayer. "Yellow roses, love. The yellow means friendship."

"And the roses?" Buffy asked as she set them carefully on the counter. "What do they mean?"

Spike ducked his head and mumbled, "Love."

The word hung in the air between them. Neither noticed as Dawn backed slowly out of the room.

The oven timer sounding made them both jump, and Buffy turned to retrieve the casserole from the oven.

"Smells good," said Spike, not sure whether he was referring to the scent of the dinner or of the Slayer's perfume.

Buffy blushed. "It's from the deli," she confessed. "All I had to do was heat and eat. It sounded good, though. And they promised there was no garlic."

"Yeah, but did you think to ask about holy water?" quipped Spike.

Not dignifying this with an answer, Buffy poked the chicken and vegetables with a serving spoon, and then ladled it into the three bowls laid out on the counter. "Can you take two of these through to the dining room?" she asked. "I'll just grab some water."

Dinner with Spike was certainly more entertaining than a night at home with Buffy, Dawn decided. For starters, he kept them entertained with anecdotes of his time in London. Dawn's favourite story was of the first night he'd joined the tour guides, although he had some amusing stories of the tourists' antics as well. Buffy was as entranced as her sister, chuckling at his tales of lost tourists and of nighttime bumps and scares at the meat plant.

"Patrol time!" Dawn exclaimed, clearing away the dishes as soon as they had eaten. Spike smiled at her eagerness, following the sisters to Buffy's weapons chest and watching as they selected weapons: a sword and light crossbow for Dawn; a smallish hand-axe and a handful of stakes for Buffy. Spike helped himself to a dagger and a pair of stakes, remembering, this time, to avoid the crosses. It wasn't hard, as Buffy kept them all packed away in a clearly labelled box these days. He wondered if it was on his account.

***

"What's that?" Dawn whispered, pointing to a shadowy cross-street two hundred or so yeards away. 

"What's what?" asked her sister, her attention distracted by her companion. Spike shushed them. Speaking so quietly that his words barely disturbed the air, he confirmed, "The Bit's right. There's something up ahead. I definitely saw movement.

"Wait here," he continued. "I'll see what kind of nasties -"

The identical looks of exasperation on two Summers faces stopped him in his tracks.

"We're not your tourists, you know," Dawn reminded him. "Or cattle carcasses, for that matter. Slayer/Mystical Warrior, AKA She Who Writes Off Nasties Before Breakfast, remember?"

Spike looked abashed at this. "I wasn't –" – he gave up, and they moved forward together. The alley was deserted now, but the telltale patches of greenish-grey slime remained. The Grshnit had been there, and recently.

***

"Giles? It's Spike."

Giles reached for his pen and the journal in which he'd been recording Willow's progress. "Nothing's wrong in Sunnydale, I hope."

"Nah, although these Grshnit are getting around a bit. They don't seem to be up to anything, but everytime we go out we see them. I'll feel better when the last of these books arrive, although no-one so far seems to know anything about them."

Giles glanced reflexively at the bookshelves on his wall. He'd checked his own books already, of course.

"Anyway," Spike continued, "I wanted to fill you in on what's happening with Willow. I can't give you anything specific, but something's up. She's worrying about something – she won't tell me what, though. Could be as simple as what to put on Tara's grave, but it could be a lot worse. If you ask me, this little visit was good for her, but it's time to get her safely back to your witchy mates."

Giles pinched the bridge of his nose wearily. "I'm inclined to agree with you, Spike. I do appreciate what you're doing. I'm due back in Sunnydale on Friday, and I have rather a lot to catch up on here. Of course, I can come back sooner if I'm needed."

"Friday's fine," Spike reassured him. "Like I said, I can't tell you what's bothering me – I just know that something's not right."

***

Dawn opened the door in response to Spike's knock. 

"Come in," she said with a smile. "I should warn you, though, that Buffy's in the world's worst mood."

"Is that Spike?" the Cranky One called.

Spike poked his head around the door of the dining room. Buffy sat in the centre of one side of the table, a notebook in front of her, papers and a couple of books spread chaotically across the table.

"How are you with reports?"

Spike grinned, moving to sit opposite her. "Better than you, I'm guessing. Care to tell me what this is all about?"

She scowled – but not at him, he noted with relief. "It's Watchers' Council paperwork. I can't believe Giles had to do this every month. They want detailed daily reports, monster and kill counts, and research, research, research." An outraged look came over her face. "They want charts and maps, Spike."

Spike suppressed his amusement at her look of horror. "Let me see what you've got, pet."

She handed him a sheaf of papers. "Dawn and I made a form. I've tried to fill out one of these every night. I thought it would help, but I still have to put it all together."

He inspected the top page, reviewing her form.

**DATE:**  October 7th, 2002

**VAMPIRES**: 5

(**new**: 3   / **old**  2)

**DEMONS**: 0

**TYPE**: __________________________________________

Or **DESCRIPTION**:

**Skin** ____________________________________

**Size** _____________________________________

**Tail**  YES / NO

**Horns**  YES / NO

**Distinguishing Characteristics (Check)**

**Scales** ____________

**Spikes** ____________

**Slime** ______________

**Other (please specify)**

______________________________________

**LOCATIONS PATROLLED**:

( Y – patrolled; K – kill location)

Sunny Rest Cemetery  K / Y / N

Sweet Repose Burials K / Y / N

Shady Hills Cemetery K / Y / N

Restfield Cemetery K / Y / N

City Park K / Y / N

High School Site / Hellmouth K / Y / N

U.C Sunnydale K / Y / N

Docks K / Y / N

Other (specify) __Circle K. Cnr Mount & Main.__________________________________ K / Y / N

"It's a start," he conceded. "Do you have any notes on your research?"

She rolled her eyes at him. "Right. Research. With the books and the –" she consulted a checklist in front of her – "primary sources."

"Right," he said. "No research. Let's get started then, pet."

He pulled her notepad and pen towards him, jotting down some figures. "Not bad, Slayer. Thirty-four vamps and eighteen assorted demons. You've been busy."

Buffy tried to look modest. She failed. Miserably.

"First things first," said Spike. "Do you have a map?"

She produced a photocopied map of Sunnydale and a collection of coloured dots.

"Excellent. Red for the vamps, I think. You stick, I'll write. And when you're done with that, grab yourself another map and plot out some of the Grshnit sightings, if you can. That should beef up the research section a bit. And we have to account for the inter-library loans somehow."

They worked in companionable silence, Buffy sticking and Spike covering page after page with his tidy copperplate. She picked up a sheet at one stage. "'The Carlton Chronicles?' Do they really exist or are you just making this stuff up?"

He shot her a mock-aggrieved look, then smiled. "Relax, love. They're real enough. I'm not going to queer your pitch with the Council of Wankers."

After a couple of hours, Spike declared himself finished. Buffy gathered up the papers and smiled at him. "Thank you, Spike. You really helped me out tonight. I want you to know that I appreciate it. A lot."

Spike ducked his head, uncomfortable with the unexpected praise. "Any time, pet." It was a promise, not a platitude. "Working together like this – it was nice."

Buffy's eyes met his in a rare moment of honesty. "Yeah," she agreed softly.

***

Willow's light was on when Xander got home after work. He'd stayed late to finalise some shift rosters and check inventory at the site.

"Hey Xander," she said, as she opened the door, looking younger and more innocent in her green flannelette pyjamas. "How was the big date last night?"

"Not bad," Xander replied, fighting back a smile. "I really like this woman, Will. She's funny and sweet and we talked for hours. Plus," he added, feeling almost like a traitor to his friends for saying it, "she's absolutely and completely normal. I've seen her by daylight, and last night I managed to make her spill the salt. She didn't even throw it over her shoulder."

Willlow smiled at her friend's enthusiasm. "Are you seeing her again?"

"Tomorrow night," replied Xander. "We're going to a movie."

"That's great!" Willow enthused. "I was just about to have some cocoa. Can I get you some too?" 

"I'm always up for warm chocolatey goodness," Xander replied as his friend disappeared into the kitchen.

She'd clearly been reading; her computer and some books were spread on the coffee table. He picked one up and flicked through it, pausing only when he discovered the unusual bookmark.

"It should be ready in a couple of -" Willow said as she returned, to find Xander standing behind his chair, a serious look on his face. She frowned in puzzlement, which changed to guilt when she saw which book he was holding.

"What's this?" he asked sternly.

"It – it's my journal from last year, Xander. And it's private." She decided to bluff it out. "I'd like it back, please."

"And this too, I suppose," he replied, holding out the sprig of Lethes' Bramble that had marked a page. "Willow, how could you? All this time, we thought you had sworn off magic – we've been trying to help you, and then I find this in your room. What else have you made us forget?"

Willow paled, picking at the fabric on the back of a chair. "Nothing, Xander. I swear, I haven't cast any forget spells. It was tucked in the journal, that was all."

Xander sat quickly, reaching for the other books, shaking them angrily. "And what do you have hidden in these books then, Will? More magic herbs? A couple of crystals, or an amulet perhaps? How stupid do you think I am?"

Willow's eyes flashed angrily. "Xander, I'm not renouncing magic. I thought you understood that. My magic's not gone away – it's blocked inside me somewhere. The coven in Devon – the witches there aren't training me to live without magic, they're teaching me how to handle it when I *do* regain my powers."

"Like how to handle your friends when you've made them forget who they are?" asked Xander, shaking his head in disgust. "I just wish I knew what else you'd been up to while we were trying to help you."

Willow bit her lip anxiously. "What are you going to do?"

"I don't know," Xander replied, his face revealing his pain. "I just feel like you betrayed me, Will – you betrayed us all. I thought you were working to get better, but now – I just can't handle this right now."

Scooping up the books, he stalked out of her apartment, slamming the door behind him, leaving his friend sobbing on her sofa.

***

 "I'd best be going then," said Anya airily, trying valiantly to sound as though she wasn't afraid that this was the end of her relationship with Giles.

Giles looked up from the book from which he was taking notes. "So soon? Sorry, darling. I've not been paying as much attention to you as I'd have liked." He gestured at the pile of books. "I'm trying to find something to help with the Sunnydale situation, but this all seems like so much rubbish. No-one seems to know anything about these Grshnit demons that couldn't be written on a rather large toenail."

Anya shrugged. "I met one once. He didn't talk much about himself, though. I'm afraid I have no useful information for you." She paused, then added urgently, "I would share it with you if I did know anything. You do get that, right?"

Giles sighed, removing his glasses. "I do 'get' that. Come here." He held out his arms to her.

She moved closer, standing hesitantly before him, hands clasped anxiously in front of her. He reached for her, pulling her gently onto his knee and wrapping his arms around her as though he'd never have to let go if he held her tightly enough.

She pouted slightly, sticking her lower lip out. "It's my being a demon, isn't it? That stupid conversation ruined everything. You've gone away somewhere – someplace inside your head – and I want my Giles back."

He smiled – as she had intended. "It didn't ruin everything, darling. We're both adults, and we can get through this." He looked her directly in the eye. "I love you, Anyanka. That means that I won't let a philosophical discussion ruin a wonderful relationship."

She sniffed, wiping her eyes on his shoulder. "I love you too, Giles. I really do. So much that sometimes I feel I might burst. I just wish life in the mortal realm was less complicated."

"We'll get through this, darling. We both have some thinking to do, but we'll see each other again soon." He stroked her cheek gently, one finger tracing the path of the single errant tear that had escaped. "And when we do, I'd like to tell the others about us, if you agree."

She kissed him slowly, lingeringly. "I really have to go. I'd much rather stay, but I have responsibilities. You're right about confessing to our secret sexual liaisons, though. We should share our happiness with our friends." She paused, then added with a mischievous look, "After we've adequately explored the Jacuzzi in your suite, of course."

When she had gone, Giles wiped his glasses wearily. He only hoped that he was right about their working things out. Life without Anya – Anyanka, he reminded himself – was not a prospect he could contemplate with any degree of enthusiasm.

* * *

... To be continued ... 


	16. Sunnydale

**Title:** In giving, we receive   
**Author: **Leadlight   
**Feedback:** Please! E-mail me or Sign my Guestbook!  
**Summary: **Post-Season 6. S/B and G/A (yay!). My thoughts on where Spike might go now..   
**Spoilers: **Not even a little anymore. And most of the stuff I speculated on was wrong anyway :-) All that is left is - I freely admit - an overdose of shippy longing. This chapter took so long to write, I was Jossed by Selfless. My D'Hoffryn is more mellow than that.  
**Disclaimer: **Not mine. I'm just borrowing them for a few days.   
**Thanks:** To my wonderful team of betas, who deal so well with my paranoia. And especially to everyone who has sent such nice feedback :-) And to anyone who is still reading this after a 2-month break!!  
**Author's Note:** Thanks. And I'm working on 17, so it should be out in less than 2 months. Sorry about the delay. Baby is fine, I am fine, I've just been busy :-(

* * *

**CHAPTER 16**

"I've never had much success with guys, but this one – I thought he was different. I've seen him every day for the past two weeks," the young woman said with a sniff. "He was always so nice, so … attentive. It was like I was the only girl in the world. I just knew he cared. I kept making up things I needed, excuses to drop by. Then I waited around one night – I thought I'd follow him home after work, maybe see if he wanted to get a drink. But he was with someone else." She took a sip of her drink, glanced vaguely around the bar, then continued.

"This girl came to see him, and they went off somewhere together. The way he looked at her – I knew it was hopeless. I thought maybe they'd just met, maybe that explained why he'd treated me that way, so I went in the next day and he acted just the same. I know he's been seeing her after work – that he never felt anything for me." She wiped her eyes. "It's like he never really saw me."

"So let me get this right," said Anya. "This guy led you on, made you think he cared, but all the time he was carrying on with someone behind your back? Doesn't that make you wish his eyes would fall out, or his penis -"

Her companion sniffed again. Anya resisted the urge to summon a giant-sized box of Kleenex, instead schooling her features into something resembling sympathy.

"I just wish he knew how I felt. That's all. I just want him to know how much this hurts."

She recoiled in horror as her companion's face changed into something unrecognisable.

"Wish granted," said Anyanka.

***

Spike opened the parcel that had arrived at the Magic Box. As he'd hoped -- a copy of Peterson's _Demonic Ceremonies, Rites and Rituals: An encyclopaedic dictionary_! He leafed through to the entry he wanted.

_GRSHNIT_

_An interesting species of which little is known to date, the Grshnit are believed to date back over 3,000 years. The species is notable primarily for its HIVE mind and renewal cycle._

_Being a hive group, the Grshnit share knowledge, strength and understanding. The notable exception to this occurs every 75 years, in the month following the death of the old Queen and preceding the emergence of the new Queen. Perhaps due to the lack of a dominant mind, the Grshnits' individuality can be seen at this time as they partake in a series of intricate TOURNAMENTS and CHALLENGES to determine the Grshnit CHAMPION; the strongest and most cunning demon, who will be ceremonially ingested by the emerging Queen. The Grshnit believe that this will ensure their leadership for the coming cycle, as the Queen is believed to assume the qualities of her first meal._

_This author feels compelled to note that centuries of INBREEDING amongst the relatively small Grshnit population have rendered this practice somewhat ineffective._

_Frequency: Rare  
Threat posed: Minimal  
Vulnerabilities: Queen, decapitation (of individuals)  
Attacks: Claws, Bite  
Speed: Slow_

Spike smirked, He'd seen one of Xander's Dungeons & Dragons books once, which used a format clearly stolen from Peterson. He'd have to encourage Buffy to get a copy; it wasn't quite Demons for Dummies, but it wasn't the _Ars Demonica_ either.

*** 

"Giles?"

Giles rubbed his eyes wearily, wondering when any of the denizens of Sunnydale would learn about timezones. _Probably never,_ he said to himself with a wry grin.

"Xander? What's wrong? Is Buffy all right?" He felt a sense of constraint (and a healthy dose of guilt) in his dealings with the younger man. Rationalise the situation as he might, absence of truth was still a form of deceit. The sooner he and Anya came clean about their relationship, the better.

"Buffy's fine," replied Xander. "It's Willow I'm worried about. I stopped by her place last night and there were books, and that herb she used to make us all forget what she'd done. I called her on it – I probably overreacted a bit – I was so shocked to see it with her stuff."

Giles frowned. The coven had helped Willow pack – and he'd helped her unpack – so he knew that there hadn't been any stray sprigs of Lethes' Bramble lying around the apartment when he'd taken her back to Sunnydale. That meant it was new, acquired from Who-Knows-Where. And _that_ meant that he might have a problem.

"I'm not doing anything in the next few days that I can't cancel," he told Xander. "I'll see whether I can bring my flight forward."

"Thanks." The relief was clear in the younger man's voice. "I don't think I handled it very well, but I don't know how to change it."

***

"Quail, mortal, for vengeance will be –" Anyanka stopped, staring.

"Spike? What are you doing here?"

"'Bout to ask you the same, love. Not that you can't come here whenever you please, but what's with the dramatics?"

She frowned. "Where's the guy?"

"I'm the only one here, love. It's after closing."

She stared at him, a look of dawning horror on her face. "Oh. My. God. It's _you_."

"That's what I've been telling you, pet," he replied. "No-one here but us demons. Giles rang, by the way. Says he's coming back early. He'll be here tomorrow afternoon."

She smiled, momentarily distracted, before recalling herself to the situation at hand. "But –" she broke off. "You don't understand, Spike. This isn't a social call. I'm here on business."

He smiled, only half paying attention as he totalled the day's sales with a flourish. "That's fine, love. You need to go over the sales figures, or –" his voice trailed away at the look on her face as it changed from its human form.

"Not _that_ kind of business, Spike. I did a spell to take me to a guy." He looked even more confused. "To fulfil a wish."

Realisation dawned, followed by a puzzled frown. "I don't get it, love. Buffy and I – everything's been so good lately. Why would she –"

"It wasn't Buffy, Spike," Anyanka interrupted. "It was just some girl – I guess she comes into the shop a lot. Apparently your excellent manner behind the counter not only induced her to purchase ludicrous quantities of overpriced non-magical items, it also led her to believe that you were sexually available and could potentially develop deep romantic feelings for her." She paused, thinking this over. "While the Vengeance Demon part of me says that's very bad indeed, the part of me that knows the challenges of retail thinks you should be praised and rewarded – in a purely verbal and not at all financial way, of course."

Spike ran a hand through his hair. "So what's it to be, love? Evisceration? Flame and crosses? Some kind of transformation? I'd like to get it over with if we can."

Anyanka shook her head. "Nothing so drastic. She just wants you to know her pain, to know what it is to experience rejection."

Tears started to Spike's eyes, and he doubled over.  It took a moment for Anyanka to realise that the choked noises he made were not sobs but bitter laughter. When he had recovered, Spike replied, "Cos that would be a change, wouldn't it. Me, unrequited love, pain. Now that's gotta be a first."

***

Spike knocked hesitantly at Willow's door. Her eyes were red from crying. 

"Did Xander send you?"

Spike rolled his eyes. "That's right. Because him and me are such good mates, I'm moonlighting as his errand boy. You know better than that, pet."

She smiled wanly, standing aside. "Come in, then. I could use a friend tonight."

Seating himself on her sofa, he cocked his head to one side. "What's up?"

She sniffed. "Xander – I -," she drew a deep breath. "When I was unpacking, I found some spell books and other magical stuff. I'm in training, Spike, not Rehab. I'm supposed to be learning how to use my magic, how to control it, not abandoning it altogether."

He nodded encouragingly, suddenly wary of where this conversation was heading.

"Xander dropped in last night. He must have looked through some of the books on my table. There was – there was an old journal I'd been looking through. There was a herb tucked inside – he found it and leapt to the worst sort of conclusions."

She wiped a tear from one eye. "I've seen – and done – some terrible things, Spike, but I never thought I'd see Xander afraid of me."

***

"Anyanka. Do come in. I've been expecting you."

D'Hoffryn smiled – and Anya swallowed a few times. She had never been able to decide whether being smiled at by her boss was better or worse than _not_ being smiled at by her boss.

"Interesting use of a technicality this afternoon."

She twitched. That kind of interesting was _never_ a compliment. "You saw that? I mean – well, of course you did. But in fact it wasn't a technicality at all. The girl wished that Spike could know the pain of unrequited love. Not only had he already experienced those pesky emotions, my merely appearing to curse him brought them all rushing back."

D'Hoffryn made some notes on a legal pad on the desk in front of him.

"That's all very well, Anyanka, but we both know that the woman's intention was that he experience that in his present relationship." He held up one hand to silence her, then continued.

"We both know your heart isn't in vengeance anymore. What you need to work out is what you're going to do about it."

Anja looked steadily at him. "I want out, D'Hoffryn."

He started, as though this hadn't been the answer they'd both known was coming. "Out." He paused, gazing at her across steepled fingers. "Out is … tricky. You know that. Out has a price."

Anya nodded. "I know. Just tell me what I have to do."

He frowned, reflecting, then smiled. This one was _definitely_ the kind you didn't want to see. "You came to me a spurned woman – and as a spurned woman you will leave me.

She blanched, her eyes pleading for there to be another way, but stood her ground. "Just – don't hurt Giles. If you do, I will find a way to destroy you and your remaining demons. And your puppies too. Remember that."

He smiled again, more pleasantly this time. "You're strong. I always liked that about you, Anyanka. Come with me. I want to show you something."

He stood, reaching out his hand to her. She took it, and they were transported to a bar, a shadowy presence among the many people who sat sipping their drinks in the late afternoon light.

He spoke quietly. "Wait here. Don't interfere."

The air around him shimmered slightly, as he took the form of a young man in his early twenties. Collecting a beer from the barkeep, he moved to a small table.

"Mind if I sit down?"

The young man at the table looked up, and Anya suppressed a gasp. It was Xander!

Xander shrugged. "Go ahead."

After some brief conversation about the sporting results, D'Hoffryn looked searchingly at Xander. 

"What's up? Something bugging you, man?"

Xander shrugged. "I'm meant to be getting married next week. But I'm just not ready, you know. I'm going to tell her tonight that I can't go through with it."

"Man, that's rough," said D'Hoffryn sympathetically. "How's she gonna take it?"

Xander blanched. "I don't know. Not well, I guess. It's not that I want to break up, I just don't want to get married yet. I don't feel ready."

A gold band appeared on D'Hoffryn's left hand, and he twisted it around his finger.

"I felt the same, you know. Matter of fact, I was gonna do the same. Went to a bar to have a few, get myself ready to tell her, y'know. But then I got talking to this guy, and he told me it wasn't so bad. He said I'd even come to like it – and you know what? He was right. Been married a year now myself, and it's pretty good."

He clapped Xander on the shoulder. "Everyone feels the same, buddy. Don't go tossing it away."

Xander smiled. "I guess you're right."

Anya frowned as D'Hoffryn returned. "I don't get it. We're in last year, right? But you just convinced Xander to go ahead and marry me, instead of cancelling the wedding. How is that scorning me? And what does it have to do with my leaving? Or do you want me to marry Xander and spend the rest of my life in a loveless marriage pining for Giles?" She frowned. "Forget I said that. That wouldn't be good vengeance at all. Not that I'm criticising your methods -"

D'Hoffryn took her hand and they returned to the familiar surrounds of his office.

"Think, Anyanka. If your Xander Harris had told you then that he didn't want to marry you, your wedding would never have gone ahead. You would never have been left at the altar, never returned to vengeance. The two of you might even have worked things out."

She frowned as she thought this through. "But –"

D'Hoffryn smiled gently as he patted her shoulder. "I've always liked you, Anya. Don't fight this. If you can use a technicality, so can I. After all, I'm the boss."

Her face cleared as she realised what he had done for her, and she hugged him tightly. "Thankyou, D'Hoffryn." Unclasping her pendant, she handed it to him.

He pulled back, embarrassed, and straightened his robes. "We're even now. And you're out of the game. Good luck – and do send me an invitation to the wedding!"

***

Buffy was at the airport the next day to meet Giles' flight. He looked at her, clearly worried. "Willow – is she-?"

Buffy smiled reassuringly. "She's fine, Giles. Spike thinks Xander may have overreacted. Apparently she's really upset. He – we think having you rush back like this to take charge might not have been the best thing for her."

Giles frowned. "Well I'm not getting back on that plane- ."

"You don't need to," Buffy replied with a smile. "Just – give us another day, okay? I spoke to Spike earlier and he said she's calming down a bit now. He thinks she should be fine by tomorrow. She's not big with the serenity right now."

Giles nodded. "That makes sense. But I can't leave it any longer than that, Buffy. After what Willow did last time she was in Sunnydale ..."

Buffy nodded. "I get that. So can I give you a lift anywhere special?"

***

Anya was sitting in the Magic Box when Giles entered, a strange – but calm – expression on her face.

She looked up and smiled at him. "I'm going to die," she announced.

Giles hurried across the room to her. "Darling, I'm afraid I don't understand."

She relaxed into his embrace for a moment, then straightened, looking him full in the face.

"I'm mortal again," she explained. "I have maybe sixty years left. I went to D'Hoffryn and surrendered my pendant. I'm out of the vengeance game for good." She frowned. "No pun intended. Although I expect that I am more good than evil these days."

Guilty relief and concern struggled for precedence, compromising on guilty concern.

"Is this because of what I said last week? Have you done this for me?"

She frowned slightly. "No. Not for you. For us, maybe, but mostly for me. The first time I became mortal, you – well, a less sexy but equally handsome and well-muscled alternate-reality-you – broke my power centre and trapped me here. I hated it – the mortal realm is much more complicated than the demon dimensions.

"Since I became a demon again, though, my heart hasn't been in it. Men still do terrible, unspeakable and stupid things, but so do women. I comprehend that now, so I can't simply eviscerate them like I used to. I was spending all my time thinking of suitable ways to grant wishes so that they would have as little effect on others as possible, and still not making my vengeance quota. Yesterday, I found myself called to do vengeance on Spike – for no valid reason beyond his shopkeeping skills, I have to add. Fortunately, I could avoid that wish on a technicality. When D'Hoffryn called me in for a chat, I realised that I'm just not interested in vengeance any more. It doesn't really solve anything."

She blushed, then added, almost shyly, "Besides, it's hard to focus on vengeance when you're in love."

Giles swept her into a kiss that left no doubt of the reciprocity of those feelings.

A long time later, Anya stood and led Giles out the Magic Box door, locking it behind them. He frowned, puzzled, and opened his mouth to speak, but she laid a finger over his lips. 

"New tradition," she explained. "Early closing day."

* * *

To be continued...


End file.
